[Written for the Sentinel.]

Eventide

See how the sunset rays of gleaming goldHave lit their lamps on Israel's hills,And soon a solemn silence fills(As when we pray) the wood, the wave, the wold.

On comes the hour of nature's hush; 'tis night,"The winter of our discontent;"But all our hopes and prayers are bentTo know the truth and onward gain the light.

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