EVENING REST.

THERE is a balmy dew from heaven,

A solace unto mortals given,

Which from the silent moon distils,

And men with rest and pleasure fills;

Which comes at eventide when stars

In fullest glory shine, and bars

From mortal eyes, with gentle might,

The glorious mysteries of the night;

Far be it from my speech to show

How patriarchs of long ago

Mount up the dome of night;

Far be it from me to record

How, glorious with his shining sword,

Around his waist a golden cord,

Orion rules in might.

These mysteries to fitly tell,

Demands that mightier powers impel

My soul to heavenly harmonies.

Mine be it then, with modest lays

And humble voice, to sing the praise

Of that which weariness allays,

And respite gives from drudgery;

To that which clasps with mystic hand,

Gentle yet strong as iron band,

The eyes of man but to disclose

The weird imaginings of repose.