Poem May 2, 1931 Issue

Evening

H. CLARA BUCK

Dear Father, in this twilight hour
I bring a load of sorrow,
The longings still unsatisfied,
The fears about to-morrow.
I bring a lack of gentleness,
A misty sense of duty,
That word that should have been unsaid,
Those thoughts that held no beauty—
I lay them down, they are not mine;
I rest in Thy safe-keeping;
The morning joy is here and now,
There is no night of weeping.

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