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Thoughts at Even-Tide

The twilight shades are deepening, and the night
Comes swiftly down, and we—we turn to Thee
In Whom no shadow is; be Thou our Light
And give us eyes to see.

To see with clearer vision, oft we grope
With feeble fingers, and with faltering feet;
Shine on us then, our glorious Star of Hope,
And radiancy complete.

The gentle word that soothes, the touch of hand,
The smile that cheers the lonely on their way,
The sympathy that shows we understand,—
For these, O Lord, we pray.

Show us our heedless, thoughtless ways—we find,
When all too late, the harm which we have wrought
By trifling jest, the word that was not kind—
The unworthy deed, or thought.

And so we leave our weakness, want, and sin,
While shadows thicken over heath and fen.
When the last shadow falls, shed Light within.
Come near and help us then!

To ruminate upon evils, to make critical notes upon injuries, and be too acute in their apprehensions, is to add unto our own tortures, to feather the arrows of our enemies, and to resolve to sleep no more; for injuries, long dreamt on, take away at last all rest.
—Sir Thomas Browne

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Edyth S. Beves

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