AT EVENING

LUCY NICHOLSON.

The master artist, with sure hand,
His long brush-strokes of rose and gray
Has swept across the evening sky;
A hush falls on the evening land
As daylight slips away
In perfect blend of tint and tone;
The little vagrant breezes sigh:
How soft the shadows are!
Above the tree-tops, bright and lone,
Out slips one star!

Nothing is here that jars, or breaks
The satisfying harmony.
Its rightful place, unquestioning,
Each tiny gleam, each light-line takes.
Each field and flower and tree
Helps to fulfil the master thought
That planned the miracle of spring;
So do the far hills, faintly blue,
All help the work so wisely wrought,
So fair and true!

Oh, outdoor world, the counterfeit,
In swift obedience, selfless love,
Of beauty, endless, ageless, new!
Of Being, perfect and complete,
All human dreams above!
Your glad and generous gifts we take
Of light, and color, and to you
Our wordless thanks are given,
Because your promise seems to make
Us sure of heaven!*

*see "Miscellaneous Writings," p.87.

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