Mrs. Elizabeth Jesup Eames (1813–1856)

Night-Scenes

THE HOLIEST hour of earth, methinks, is thine,

O Twilight, meekly fair! Welcome to all

When, soft and sweet, thy vestal light divine

Over life’s toil-worn travellers doth fall.

Then the world pauses from its busy cares;

Then play-tired children say their evening prayers;

Then the low cradle-hymn the mother weaves;

The bird folds up its wing, the flower its leaves.

Yea! hallowed of all hours since the time

God’s presence blest it in the cedar shade,

When the leaves thrilled with joy, though man, afraid,

Shrank from his voice, and fled the Guest divine!

That peerless Paradise is lost, but still,

O Father! let this hour be free from touch of ill.