THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 OF 
 
 LOS 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 CALIFORNIA 
 ANGELES
 
 SUNSET HOURS.
 
 Oh ! let us live, so that flower by flower, 
 
 Shutting in turn, may leave 
 A lingerer still for the sunset hour, 
 
 A charm for the shaded eve. 
 
 — Mrs IlemaJis.
 
 SUNSET HOURS 
 
 OR 
 
 SIMPLE THOUGHTS 
 
 IN VERSE. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES HENRY WALKER CLINDINNING. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 J. AND R. PARLANE, PAISLEY. 
 
 18S6.
 
 PR 
 
 Sunset flours. 
 
 " (the ,^lobc tame in to bim in the edening — mxit, Io, in 
 bcr moutlj toas an olibc leaf nluckb off." 
 
 r 
 
 868801
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Sunset by the Sea 
 
 
 9 
 
 A Song for Advent ... 
 
 12 
 
 The River 
 
 14 
 
 An Evening Prayer ... 
 
 l6 
 
 The Sabbath ... 
 
 18 
 
 Mary of Magdala 
 
 23 
 
 Gethsemane ... 
 
 26 
 
 Christmas 
 
 30 
 
 A Pilgrim's Song 
 
 32 
 
 The Village Church ... 
 
 35 
 
 Where are the Dead? 
 
 39 
 
 Chinnereth 
 
 41 
 
 " And when the Evening was come He was alone 
 
 44 
 
 The Robin 
 
 47 
 
 Sunset ... 
 
 ... 
 
 5° 
 
 Nain 
 
 ... 
 
 52 
 
 A Prayer 
 
 ... 
 
 54 
 
 Night 
 
 ... 
 
 55 
 
 An Evening Cloud .. 
 
 ... 
 
 59 
 
 Our Exemplar 
 
 ... 
 
 61 
 
 Evening 
 
 ... ... ... 
 
 62
 
 ILLUSTRATION.-. 
 
 The Olive 
 
 Sunset by the Sea 
 
 The River 
 
 A Pastoral Scene 
 
 A Rural Scene 
 
 Palm Trees 
 
 Gethsemane . . . 
 
 Bethlehem 
 
 The Village Church 
 
 Sea of Galilee 
 
 An Evening Scene 
 
 The Robin 
 
 Sunset Scene ... 
 
 Nain ... 
 
 A Night Scene 
 
 A Lake Scene 
 
 9 
 14 
 16 
 iS 
 21 
 26 
 
 3° 
 35 
 
 4i 
 44 
 47 
 
 59
 
 SUNSET BY THE SEA. 
 
 nTHE storm is hush'd; the rolling waves ■ 
 By adverse winds now lashed no more, 
 Slow wand'ring to their ancient caves, 
 With ripples lave this lonely shore.
 
 io Sunset Hours. 
 
 On these wild rocks and rugged walls, 
 Erst covered with the blinding spray, 
 
 How soft the calm of evening falls, 
 
 How rich the lights and shadows play ! 
 
 Day's glorious orb, descending slow, 
 Still lingers in the crimson'd west, 
 
 Illumining, with golden glow, 
 
 A pathway o'er the ocean's breast. 
 
 And see, all scathless from the storm, 
 Yon little barque, the sailor's pride, 
 
 With canvas set in graceful form, 
 
 Glides homeward on the flowing tide. 
 
 My God, I thank Thee for this hour, 
 This lovely sunset by the sea; 
 
 It moves my soul with sacred power, 
 
 And fills my glowing thoughts with Thee !' 
 
 Thy hand omnipotent, alone, 
 
 Could form the grandeurs here displayed: 
 This golden light comes from Thy throne, 
 
 This blessed calm Thy love has made !
 
 Sunset by the Sea. n 
 
 And while I ponder o'er the scene, 
 
 Life's voyage outstretch'd before me lies : 
 
 Ah, mine a chequer'd one has been, 
 
 With some bright gleams athwart the skies. 
 
 How often, bord'ring on despair, 
 
 My heart has quail'd before the blast; 
 
 ^Yhile faith could hardly breathe a prayer, 
 Cr hope to reach the port at last. 
 
 But still Thine arm was strong to save 
 Where'er the danger round me press'd ; 
 
 Nor could I sink beneath the wave, 
 With Thy sure pledge of life possess'd. 
 
 And now my evening time has come, 
 Its gath'ring shadows round me creep ; 
 
 And I would gladly be at home 
 Ere darkness settles on the deep. 
 
 <D Saviour, if it be Thy will, 
 
 One favour more on me bestow ; 
 Now bid life's winds and waves be still, 
 
 And lead me home in sunset's glow.
 
 12 Su?isct Hours. 
 
 A SONG FOR ADVENT. 
 
 f~~\ LIST, my soul, the joyful strain 
 
 Which hosts angelic raise ; 
 Hark, how it swells, and swells again, 
 In louder notes of praise ! 
 
 'Tis thus they hail the wondrous birth, 
 
 In David's lowly town, 
 Of Him whose reign shall bless the earth, 
 
 And man with glory crown. 
 
 Ye stars that gem heaven's azure brow 
 
 In midnight's solemn round, 
 O, shed your brightest lustre now 
 
 Wherever man is found. 
 
 For He who form'd your bright array 
 
 To cheer the gloom of night, 
 Now comes to guide his devious way 
 
 With beams of heavenly light.
 
 A Song for Advent. 13 
 
 Ye waves that roll on ocean's breast 
 
 With loud and sullen roar, 
 Break gently, as ye glide to rest. 
 
 Along the lonely shore. 
 
 For Jesus comes in mercy mild 
 
 To bid earth's tumults cease, 
 And lay its storms of passion wild 
 
 With everlasting peace. 
 
 O earth, in ruin lovely still, 
 
 Let joy pervade your frame, 
 And every vale and swelling hill 
 
 Breathe odours to His name. 
 
 For soon His smile will chase the gloom 
 
 That reigns where sin has trod, 
 And make the wilderness to blocm 
 
 A paradise of God. 
 
 And thou, my soul, prepare a song, 
 
 How couldst thou silent be ! 
 He comes, the Saviour promis'd long, 
 
 With endless life for thee.
 
 14 
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 T7E0W on, bright river, softly flow, 
 
 In graceful windings through the dell ; 
 We love to follow where ye go, 
 
 And con what ye may have to tell. 
 
 Born as a tiny mountain rill, 
 
 A babbling thing ye rush'd along, 
 
 But ever wid'ning, deep'ning still, 
 And happy in your own wild sonj
 
 The River. 15 
 
 Till now, a river on ye glide 
 
 Majestic through this valley fair ; 
 Reflecting on your waveless tide 
 
 The sunshine and the shadows there. 
 
 A few miles more 'tis yours to wend 
 
 Along this fertile, pleasant shore ; 
 And then with ocean waves to blend 
 
 Where we may never trace thee more. 
 
 'Tis thus with life ; in early days 
 
 How shallow, loud, the currents wind : 
 
 But riper age and broader ways 
 
 Give peace and volume to the mind. 
 
 Then, as life's stream still onward flows 
 
 Beneath a chequer'd, changing sky, 
 What light and shade, what joys and woes 
 
 Upon its bosom mirror'd lie ! 
 
 And surely as the rivers roll 
 
 To mix at last with Ocean's wave, 
 So human life moves to its goal, 
 
 So sinks for ever in the grave.
 
 i6 
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 AN EVENING PRAYER. 
 
 T^HE hour of rest, my God, has come, 
 Now gently call the wand'rer home; 
 Enfold me in Thy covering wings, 
 And fill my thoughts with heavenly things, 
 
 I beseech Thee.
 
 An Evening Prayer. 17 
 
 For all the light and joy of day, 
 And all Thy mercies by the way, 
 O teach me, in melodious lays, 
 To render fitting thanks and praise, 
 
 I beseech Thee. 
 
 Absolve my soul from every sin, 
 Make conscience clean and pure within, 
 That I in sleep may do Thy will, 
 And in my dreams behold Thee still, 
 
 I beseech Thee. 
 
 Darkness and danger are around, 
 And help in Thee alone is found ; 
 O guard me through the lonely night 
 As Thou hast guarded in the light, 
 
 I beseech Thee. 
 
 And while securely thus I lie, 
 New strength, new vigour, Lord, supply; 
 That when the morn breaks in the skies, 
 All fresh and gladsome I may rise, 
 
 I beseech Thee.
 
 i8 
 
 Sufiset Hours. 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 TDEACE spreads her mantle o'er the skies, 
 
 And motionless all cloudland lies ; 
 While hill and vale and wood display 
 New charms to greet the sacred day.
 
 The Sabbath. 19 
 
 The insect world, with soften'd hum, 
 Now seems to feel that rest has come; 
 While slower glide the streams along, 
 And sweeter trills the wood-lark's song. 
 
 The mill, the forge, the scythe and plough, 
 From all their works are resting now; 
 And old and young, once more set free, 
 In various ways may happy be. 
 
 If in the sacred fane they raise 
 The voice of prayer and psalm of praise, 
 The Lord will there His servants meet, 
 And bless them at the mercy seat. 
 
 Or if, in contemplative mood, 
 They seek the rural solitude, 
 There, in the glade or lonely hill, 
 His presence will be with them still. 
 
 Hail, blessed day ! Thou art to me 
 A sunny spot on life's dark sea; 
 A little isle around whose shore 
 The surging billows break no more ;
 
 20 Sunset Hotirs. 
 
 Whose skies all cloudless, all serene, 
 O'er-arch fair hills of living green, 
 And healing streams, that still make glad 
 The poor, the weary, and the sad. 
 
 This day is Thine ; its hours, its all, 
 
 A heavenly impress bear; 
 Father, our wand'ring thoughts recall, 
 
 That we its joys may share. 
 
 Weary and worn with toil and pain, 
 
 We hail this season blest ; 
 Now love unbinds the six days chain, 
 
 And gives the weary rest. 
 
 Calm as the world around us lies 
 
 O may our spirit be ; 
 And cloudless as yon azure skies 
 
 The faith that looks to Thee. 
 
 Thy bounteous table, Lord, is spread 
 For all who feel their need ; 
 
 O let us share the children's bread, 
 On heavenly manna feed.
 
 The Sabbath. 
 
 21 
 
 Still, as of old, by Elim's palm 
 The living water flows ; 
 
 And still in Gilead there is balm 
 For human wants and woes.
 
 ■2 2 Sunset Hours. 
 
 O may we drink of these pure rills 
 And all their virtues prove ; 
 
 While Jesus on each soul distils 
 His healing balm of love. 
 
 And, Lord, above the hills of time, 
 From Pisgah's lofty brow ; 
 
 We fain would scan a brighter clime, 
 And see Thy glory now. 
 
 Now in the crimson tinted West 
 
 The Sabbath sun goes down to rest ; 
 
 While tuneful birds on every spray 
 
 Trill forth a joyous, parting lay ; 
 
 And nature breathes, from land and sea, 
 
 Her grateful incense, Lord, to Thee. 
 
 Shall I be silent ? Nay, no more ; 
 
 While all around me thus adore, 
 
 I too would praise Thee, Lord of Heaven, 
 
 For Sabbath blessings richly given ; 
 
 And dream, the while, that earth may prove, 
 
 Ere long, a land of rest and love, 
 
 Where never more sin's blight shall fall, 
 
 Nor morn again to labour call.
 
 Mary of Magdala. 23, 
 
 MARY OF MAGDALA. 
 
 "T*WAS early morn, the twilight lay 
 
 On Salem's holy hill; 
 And some few stars with less'ning ray 
 Shone o'er Golgotha still : 
 
 Where, through the gloom, might be descried 
 
 The Roman cross of shame — 
 On which "the Man of Sorrows" died, 
 
 Who to redeem us came. 
 
 Such was the hour, the scene, when stole 
 
 An outcast to His grave ; 
 A lowly one, whose trembling soul 
 
 Had felt His power to save. 
 
 And who, of all His friends, more meet 
 
 To pay sad tribute there, 
 Than her who wash'd with tears His feet, 
 
 And wiped them with her hair?
 
 24 Sunset Hours. 
 
 Ah, see how pale her graceful brow, 
 Her eyes, with weeping sore ; 
 
 But 'tis not sin that wounds her now, 
 For she has sinn'd no more. 
 
 The tomb is empty where the Lord 
 For two sad days had lain ; 
 
 Nor knows she yet the blessed word 
 That He would rise again. 
 
 So, all around that sacred spot 
 She looks with anxious eyes ; 
 
 And weeps because she knoweth not 
 Where now her Master lies. 
 
 But hush — upon her list'ning ear 
 The name of " Mary " falls ; 
 
 O joy ! the Lord Himself is near, 
 It is His voice that calls ! 
 
 How blessed must this morning be, 
 
 Thou lowly Magdalene ; 
 The risen Lord hath talked with thee, 
 
 His face thine eyes have seen.
 
 Mary of Magdala. 25 
 
 'Twas thine the latest tear to shed 
 
 AVhen death His sorrows closed ; 
 Thine first to hail Him from the dead, 
 
 With holy joy composed. 
 
 Nor, Mary, canst thou all alone 
 
 Such weight of gladness bear ; 
 To others make His rising known, 
 
 That they thy joy may share. 
 
 His little flock, oppress'd and sad, 
 
 Some comfort sorely need ; 
 Haste, with these tidings make them glad,— 
 
 "The Lord has ris'n indeed."
 
 26 
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 
 GETHSEMANE. 
 
 "THE pascal meal is over now, 
 
 To them a sad, yet blessed one ; 
 And down Moriah's rocky brow 
 The lowly Nazarenes have gone. 
 
 Ah, whither went their weary feet 
 O'er Kidron's vale so dark and still? 
 
 Were they with other friends to meet 
 In Mary's home on Beth'ny's hill?
 
 Gethsemane. 2 7 
 
 Not thither then the Master led 
 
 The little flock He lov'd so well ; 
 Nor to the mountains where He fed 
 
 The weary ones when evening fell. 
 
 Gethsem'ne's olive grove once more 
 
 Will throw its shadows round the Lord ; 
 
 And to His friends, whose hearts are sore, 
 A quiet resting-place afford. 
 
 And there they linger, sad and worn. 
 
 Their words but few, their thoughts profound ; 
 
 Till sleep, that friend of all that mourn, 
 Low lays them on the fragrant ground. 
 
 'Tis midnight now ; the glorious moon 
 
 O'er Olivet her splendour shows ; 
 And trials new, alas, too soon, 
 
 Will rudely break their short repose. 
 
 O, little flock, enjoy your sleep, 
 
 While undisturbed the moments roll ; 
 
 Watch with your Lord ye cannot keep, 
 Nor share the conflict of His soul.
 
 28 Sunset Hours. 
 
 Alone, beneath the olives' shade, 
 
 "The Man of Sorrows" meekly knelt, 
 
 And there in agony He prayed, 
 
 But who may tell the pangs He felt ! 
 
 No human eye beheld Him there, 
 
 None saw His blood-sweat trickling slow ; 
 
 And heaven alone could hear His prayer 
 That sprang from more than mortal woe. 
 
 Ah ! wherefore rose that pleading cry, 
 Why fell those drops of crimson hue? 
 
 Say, did the Sinless fear to die, 
 
 Ere yet the cross had met His view? 
 
 The traitor's kiss, in friendly guise, 
 The crown of thorns and bitter gall; 
 
 His creatures' rage and mocking cries — 
 All this might well His soul appal. 
 
 But O, to feel, through all His frame, 
 The poison of the serpent's breath, 
 
 And, nail'd upon the tree of shame, 
 To pour His soul out unto Death : —
 
 Gethsemane. 29 
 
 This was the cup that woke His fears, 
 That filled the Sinless with dismay ; 
 
 And trembling, with strong cries and tears, 
 He prayed that it might pass away. 
 
 But no ! that cup His Father gave, 
 Nought else for sinners could atone : 
 
 To ransom souls doomed to the grave, 
 The Saviour must lay down His own. 
 
 The flesh was weak, and might have failed 
 
 The awful ordeal to endure, 
 Had not Almighty love prevailed 
 
 To make Redemption's purpose sure. 
 
 That lonely Man was God's own Son, 
 
 The Lamb to be for sinners slain ; 
 And O, His prayer, "Thy will be done," 
 
 Revealed the Power that did sustain. 
 
 And when He comes, a glorious King, 
 
 The travail of His soul to see, 
 Creation then with joy shall ring, 
 
 From sin and death for ever free.
 
 3° 
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 Bethlehem. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Q JOYFUL were the notes, and long, 
 
 That filled the starry dome, 
 When angels sang, in wondrous song, 
 That Christ, the Lord, had come;
 
 Christinas. 31 
 
 And lovely was the morning star 
 
 That o'er Ephrata smiled, 
 When came the wise men from afar 
 
 To hail the Holy Child. 
 
 And while this morn, in gladsome strain, 
 
 We celebrate His birth ; 
 'Tis joy to know that soon again 
 
 The Lord will come to earth. 
 
 Not as a " Man of Sorrows " then 
 
 To suffer and to die ; 
 But as the Saviour — King of men, 
 
 With glory from on high. 
 
 Then all who in His love abide, 
 
 Asleep, or waking still, 
 Shall rise immortal, glorified, 
 
 And heavenly places fill.
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 A PILGRIM'S SONG. 
 
 A H me, how long and dreary 
 
 The "little while" appears? 
 And, sometimes faint and weary, 
 I yield to doubts and fears. 
 
 The road becomes more lonely 
 As friends grow less each day ; 
 
 For kindred spirits only 
 Can commune by the way. 
 
 Dark clouds will often cover 
 The goal to which I tread ; 
 
 While mists still round me hover, 
 And chilling coldness shed. 
 
 Then there are times of sorrow 
 That pilgrims only know ; 
 
 And burdens for the morrow 
 Will bow the spirit low.
 
 A Pilgrim's Song. 33, 
 
 But mix'd with all the sadness, 
 
 The weariness and pain, 
 There are some drops of gladness, 
 
 Some cordials to sustain. 
 
 How sweet Salvation's story, 
 
 What balm in Jesus' love ! 
 And hope of coming glory 
 
 Will lift the soul above ! 
 
 Ere long with kindred sleeping 
 
 In shades my Saviour blest, 
 Safe in His gracious keeping, 
 
 This weary one shall rest. 
 
 That sleep shall know no waking 
 Through dreams of pain or care,, 
 
 Nor strife, nor tumult breaking, 
 Disturb the silence there. 
 
 But not, dear Lord, for ever 
 
 Shall this my portion be; 
 The grave can only sever 
 
 A little while from thee. 
 
 E
 
 .34 
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 Soon through its chambers holy, 
 Through all creation round, 
 
 To call the meek and lowly, 
 The trump of God shall sound. 
 
 When, all Thy likeness wearing, 
 The quick and dead shall rise, 
 
 And, in Thy glory sharing, 
 Shall meet Thee in the skies. 
 
 Then, farewell Death for ever, 
 With all its train of woe ; 
 
 And, welcome Life that never 
 Shall sin or sorrow know.
 
 The Village Church. 
 
 35 
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 ~LJ OW lovely is the Sabbath morn 
 When Autumn days are nigh; 
 When wave the fields of yellow corn 
 Beneath a cloudless sky.
 
 36 Siaiset Hours. 
 
 It is the morn, of morns most fair, 
 Of earthly boons the best; 
 
 The time when we forget our care, 
 And stretch our limbs to rest. 
 
 How quiet now the village lies, 
 How still the village green ! 
 
 No sounds of mirth or labour rise 
 To mar the peaceful scene. 
 
 And crowning yonder verdant slope 
 The village church appears ; 
 
 Dear house of prayer, and door of hope, 
 Grown gray with lapse of years. 
 
 Now softly through its open door 
 And panes of ancient hue, 
 
 The golden beams of morning pour, 
 And gild each oaken pew. 
 
 And from the elms that cluster near 
 
 A cooling shadow falls ; 
 While sparrows, without let or fear, 
 
 Chirp in the ivied walls.
 
 The Village Church. 37 
 
 Our fathers, by devotion mov'd, 
 
 For God that temple made ; 
 And in its courts, so much belov'd, 
 
 Their solemn vows were paid. 
 
 Hard by its walls, with grass o'ergrown, 
 
 Their lowly graves are found; 
 Some with, and some without, a stone 
 
 To mark the holy ground. 
 
 What weary years have come and gone, 
 
 What joys and sorrows fled, 
 Since they were carried, one by one, 
 
 To rest with kindred dead ! 
 
 But graceful on its rounded hill 
 
 Their fane still points on high ; 
 A temple for the living still, 
 
 Where they may learn to die. 
 
 And still, as holy days come round, 
 
 And all their joys unfold, 
 Their children in its courts are found, 
 
 As they were found of old.
 
 o 
 
 8 Sunset Hours. 
 
 There rich and poor in common meet 
 Where castes no more divide; 
 
 As brethren round the Mercy Seat, 
 They worship side by side. 
 
 One spirit fills the pious throng, 
 And moulds their simple prayers; 
 
 One joy pervades their swelling song. 
 One hope of glory theirs. 
 
 And while devotion thus employs 
 Each willing heart and voice, 
 
 They share their fathers' Sabbath joys, 
 And in their hopes rejoice. 
 
 Lord, may Thy servants ever be 
 Thus one in faith and love, 
 
 Till raised and glorified by Thee, 
 They form Thy church above. 
 
 And O, till then, keep open wide 
 
 Our village churches all, 
 That there, at morn and eventide, 
 
 Men on Thy name may call.
 
 Where are the Dead? 39 
 
 WHERE ARE THE DEAD? 
 
 "\A7"HERE are the dead ; O, where are they 
 Who from our midst have pass'd away, 
 No more with us on earth to bear 
 Life's burdens, or its sorrows share? 
 We pause and scan with anxious eye, 
 The far off depths of yonder sky ; 
 But moon and stars heed not our call ; 
 Unmov'd they shine in silence all, 
 And cheer the living world below ; 
 But of the dead they nothing know. 
 
 Where are the dead ? Earth answers, See 
 How vast the multitude with me, 
 Form'd of my clay, to clay returned, 
 Some all unwept, some deeply mourn'd. 
 On mountain side, in vale, around, 
 Their graves in every land are found, 
 So num'rous that the living tread 
 Unconsciously upon the dead, 
 And careless turn with spade and plough 
 Their dust unknown, unhonour'd now.
 
 40 Sunset Hours. 
 
 Where are the dead ? The Ocean's roar 
 Sad sounding on the lonely shore, 
 Bears to our hearts, in mournful tone, 
 A message from her depths unknown, 
 To tell that there, from human ken, 
 Lie millions of forgotten men, 
 Enshrouded in primeval gloom ; 
 The sea that wreck'd, that sea their tomb, 
 While winds and waves their dirges sing, 
 And wild birds join with answ'ring wing. 
 
 Where are the dead ? Within their graves, 
 On hill, in plain, beneath the waves; 
 There good and bad alike repose, 
 Congenial friends, relentless foes, 
 Their virtues, and their vices all, 
 Before them gone, beyond recall. 
 And O, what factors these will be, 
 What items full of destiny, 
 When Heaven the page of life unrolls, 
 And seals the fate of human souls !
 
 Chinnereth. 
 
 4i 
 
 CHINNERETH. 
 
 pMBOSOM'D in its graceful hills, 
 
 The vale of Chinn'reth lies, 
 A sunny land of brooks and rills, 
 O'er-arched with golden skies.
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 But there are sounds of joy no more 
 
 Where joy was wont to be ; 
 And silence marks the lonely shore 
 
 Of Chinn'reth's lonelier sea. 
 
 O then let no vain thoughts of mine, 
 
 No things of earth intrude ; 
 The halo of a Life Divine 
 
 Pervades this solitude. 
 
 Once in this land the Son of God 
 
 A lowly dwelling found ; 
 These now deserted paths He trod, 
 
 And made them holy ground. 
 
 Still sweetly bloom the mountain flowers 
 
 Where Jesus knelt in prayer; 
 And ever in night's solemn hours 
 
 The stars shine brightest there. 
 
 Here, round Him drew at eventide 
 
 The poor, the sick, the sad; 
 And while His power their needs supplied, 
 
 His mercy made them glad.
 
 Chinnereth. 43 
 
 Yon lovely sea once felt His tread, 
 
 Once bore His sleeping form ; 
 Its winds and waves before Him fled, 
 
 When He rebuk'd the storm. 
 
 And still He speaks from shore and sea, 
 From vale and mountain crest : — 
 
 " Come, weary sinners, unto Me, 
 And I will give you rest." 
 
 Amen, dear Lord, our hearts reply ; 
 
 Weary, and sad, and poor, 
 To Thee we lift the suppliant eye, 
 
 And trust Thy promise sure. 
 
 O take our guilt and fears away, 
 
 All unbelief remove ; 
 That we, thus blessed, day by day, 
 
 Thy sacred rest may prove : 
 
 Till in a fairer land than this, 
 
 Beneath serener skies, 
 We share the pure unsullied bliss 
 
 Thy presence, Lord, supplies.
 
 44 
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 s -<m 
 
 "AND WHEN THE EVENING WAS COME HE 
 WAS THERE ALONE." 
 
 VyHERE'ER He journeyed day by day, 
 
 What blessings marked His wondrous way, 
 Who came eternal life to give : —
 
 " A?id when the evening was come" &c. 45 
 
 The sick He healed, the hungry fed, 
 In quiet paths the weary led, 
 And bade the dead arise and live. 
 
 And when the busy day was done, 
 
 And home the wond'ring crowds had gone, 
 
 He sought some calm and silent shade; 
 
 And there alone, while others slept, 
 
 "The Man of Sorrows" vigil kept, 
 
 And for the sad and sinful prayed. 
 
 And now, perchance, the mild gazelle 
 May roam where soft His footsteps fell, 
 Far from the beaten paths of men : 
 And Chinn'reth's wave, or mountain rill, 
 Relieve the solemn silence still, 
 Where Jesus bow'd in worship then. 
 
 But O, Thou blessed Son of God, 
 
 I may not tread where Thou hast trod, 
 
 Nor kneel where Thou hast knelt in prayer ; 
 
 'Tis only mine in dreams to trace 
 
 Thy lonely path, and holy place, 
 
 And fancy what Thy pleadings were.
 
 46 Sunset Hours. 
 
 Nor this alone my fancy tries; 
 Up to yon heaven she fain would rise, 
 And see Thee on Thy glorious throne ; 
 The same sure friend of want and woe, 
 As when Thou liv'dst with men below, 
 And made their sorrows all Thine own. 
 
 And oh, when troubles round me press, 
 And sad I mourn in loneliness, 
 How sweet this blessed thought will be ! 
 'Twill cheer my poor desponding heart, 
 And brighter hopes and joys impart, 
 To know that Thou still car'st for me
 
 The Robin. 
 
 47 
 
 THE ROBIN. 
 
 T^HE pale November sun had set, 
 
 And closed a cheerless day, 
 When on his perch, still ling'ring yet, 
 A Robin sang his lay. 
 
 The changeful wind was cold and keen, 
 Bleak were the fields, and bare ; 
 
 And darkness gath'ring o'er the scene 
 Hid all the beauty there.
 
 48 Sioiset Hours. 
 
 It matter'd not ; that lonely bird 
 
 Of all oblivious seem'd ; 
 Far other things his bosom stirr'd, 
 
 Of brighter days he dream'd. 
 
 In genial Spring, and Summer's glow, 
 
 A happy life he led ; 
 Nor less when Autumn soft and low, 
 
 Her russet bounties spread. 
 
 And though no barn or store had he 
 For Winter time prepared, 
 
 He felt some Power he could not see 
 Still kindly for him cared. 
 
 So for the present and the past, 
 For all that Power had given ; 
 
 His cheery song rose on the blast, 
 A tribute sweet to heaven. 
 
 And while he sang, could I do less 
 Than lift my heart in praise 
 
 To that same Power whose kindliness 
 Had follow'd all my days?
 
 The Robi?i. 49 
 
 Thus far through life's revolving years, 
 
 In sunshine and in shade, 
 For all my wants, so mix'd with fears, 
 
 He had provision made. 
 
 Nor can I doubt His goodness now 
 When winter time is here, 
 
 And like a leafless, bending bough, 
 I feel its storms severe. 
 
 Nay, rather let me look above, 
 
 And still in Him confide; 
 No season ever bounds His love, 
 
 No clouds from Him can hide. 
 
 He knows my needs, He knows my frame, 
 
 Regards my feeblest cry ; 
 And O, His goodness, still the same, 
 
 Will all my wants supply.
 
 5° 
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 T7AST fading from my raptur'd view, 
 In gorgeous clouds of crimson'd hue. 
 
 Day's circling orb, with glory crown'd. 
 
 Again has reach'd his empire's bound : 
 And ling'ring, ere he sets, a while surveys 
 The landscape burnish'd with his parting rays. 
 
 And Eve, sweet maid, so calm, so shy. 
 With noiseless step and pensive eye, 
 Comes forth on hill and lonely dell 
 To breathe a balmy, soft farewell ; 
 And Westward lifts her veil, that she may share 
 The glorious vision that surrounds him there.
 
 Sunset. 5 1 
 
 But fainter now that vision grows, 
 Nearer the deep'ning shadows close; 
 A little while — 'twill all be o'er, 
 Yon quiv'ring gleams be seen no more ; 
 And all on which we now so fondly gaze 
 Will vanish like a dream of other days. 
 
 Farewell awhile, thou setting sun, 
 
 I, too, another stage have run ; 
 
 Like thee, through storm and cloud have pass'd, 
 
 To reach a peaceful goal at last ; 
 And grateful own His goodness and His power, 
 Who makes the sunset still the loveliest hour. 
 
 And when at last, through His behest, 
 
 Life's full-orbed sun goes down to rest, 
 
 O, may He then light up the way 
 
 With visions of a brighter day; 
 And make the grave, through His sweet smile alone, 
 A golden vista to His glorious throne.
 
 52 
 
 Swiscf Hours. 
 
 NAIN. 
 
 XTOT far from Tabor's sacred hill 
 
 Fair Nain in sweet seclusion lies ;
 
 Nain. 5 3 
 
 Its slopes are green and fragrant still. 
 And lovely are its evening skie. c . 
 
 Not now on these fair charms we dwell, 
 However pleasing they may be ; 
 
 Thou hast a far more potent spell. 
 
 O Nain, to draw our thoughts to thee. 
 
 The Lord, who for us lived and died, 
 Around thee shed His glory mild, 
 
 When near thy gate, at eventide, 
 He raised the widow's only child. 
 
 And still from thee, beloved Nain, 
 
 Float down His words of love and power ; 
 
 Sweet words that raise our hopes again 
 When low they sink in sorrow's hour. 
 
 Through that dear One our dead shall live 
 When round "the little while" has run: 
 
 'Twas His to take, 'tis His to give, 
 And ours to say, "Thy will be done."
 
 54 Sunset Hours. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 TF lonely through the world I roam 
 Without a rest, without a home, 
 Lord, here Thy way I see : 
 The world no home her Maker gave, 
 No resting place but in the grave, 
 And I would follow Thee. 
 
 If toil I must from day to day, 
 And scanty fare that toil repay, 
 
 Be this enough for me : 
 Thine was a life of labour too, 
 With sore privations not a few, 
 
 And I would follow Thee. 
 
 And should I for Thy blessed name 
 Be call'd to suffer loss and shame, 
 
 This will be joy to me : 
 A crown of thorns once wreath'd the brow 
 Where endless glory circles now, 
 
 And I would follow Thee.
 
 Nig/it. 
 
 55 
 
 NIGHT. 
 pjJOW bright yon starry watchers glow 
 To cheer the silent world below;
 
 56 Sunset Hours. 
 
 While nature, on her ample breast, 
 Now lays the weary ones to rest, 
 And sleep a sweet oblivion throws 
 O'er all their wants, o'er all their woes ! 
 And where, in cot or lordly hall, 
 The chast'ning hand of heaven may fall, 
 There mercy comes with noiseless tread, 
 And gently smooths the patient's bed, 
 In slumber drowns the rising sigh, 
 And wipes the tear from sorrow's eye. 
 I pause and listen, but no sound 
 Disturbs the peace that broods around, 
 No curious eye doth here intrude, 
 No movement breaks the solitude, 
 Save where the river, widening o'er, 
 Plays with the pebbles on the shore ; 
 Or where some wild bird, prone to roam, 
 Returning to her moorland home, 
 Slow cleaves the air with drowsy wing, 
 A weary and a lonely thing. 
 And yet, alone I cannot be, 
 The scene, my God, is full of Thee : 
 Nor would I strive Thine eye to shun, 
 My life, my soul's eternal sun, 
 Since even here 'tis joy, 'tis bliss,
 
 Night. r 7 
 
 Thy garment's hem in faith to kiss ! 
 I cannot see Thy radiant form, 
 As Peter saw Thee in the storm ; 
 Nor hear Thy voice that softly stole 
 Like heavenly music o'er the soul, 
 When, on Gennes'reth's sacred shore, 
 Thou bad'st the mourner weep no more ; 
 But earth and heaven, in sweet accord, 
 Tell of Thy presence, gracious Lord ! 
 The droppings of Thy love suffuse 
 The balmy air, the pearly dews ; 
 This lonely shade Thy footstep feels, 
 And every star yon arch reveals, 
 Displays Thy power, nor less Thy love, 
 And points to brighter worlds above. 
 O, that I might on angel wings 
 Soar upward through yon shining things, 
 And see, with heaven-illumined eyes, 
 Wonder on wonder round me rise, 
 Till, far beyond the farthest gem 
 That sparkles in night's diadem, 
 My raptured soul would end her flight 
 In realms of uncreated light, 
 And see Thee, glorious Saviour, there, ' 
 Creation's Maker and its Heir. 
 
 H
 
 58 Sunset Hows. 
 
 But as this may not, cannot be, 
 
 Let this, dear Lord, suffice for me, 
 
 That still, amid the cares, the strife, 
 
 And all the changing scenes of life, 
 
 Devoutly I may gaze, as now, 
 
 On night's serene, untroubled brow. 
 
 And dream, as human minds are prone, 
 
 Of other skies, and stars unknown ; 
 
 While yon bright orbs with kindly smile 
 
 Throw lustre on my " little while." 
 
 And when has snapp'd life's brittle thread, 
 
 And, all unconscious, with the dead 
 
 I take my place ; each twinkling star, 
 
 That now looks on me from afar, 
 
 Will then unchanging vigil keep, 
 
 To guard my long and peaceful sleep, 
 
 Till Thou, with trumpet call, shalt come, 
 
 To gather all Thy people home.
 
 Aii Evening Cloud. 
 
 59 
 
 AN EVENING CLOUD. 
 
 'THE ruddy sun was sinking low 
 
 Adown his golden way, 
 When near him, pure as virgin snow, 
 A lovely cloudlet lay. 
 
 Detach'd, alone, it seemed to me 
 
 An island in the west, 
 Calm floating on a glorious sea, 
 
 Where angel-feet might rest.
 
 6° Stniset Hours. 
 
 But while I gazed it smaller grew, 
 
 Dissolving in the light, 
 Till, in a flush of brighter hue, 
 
 It vanish'd from my sight. 
 
 Thus would I rest, my Saviour dear, 
 When life is nearly done ; 
 
 Calm as that cloudlet linger'd near 
 The slow descending sun. 
 
 And as it pass'd, in glorious hues, 
 To meet my gaze no more; 
 
 So, with Thy light my soul suffuse, 
 When life's short day is o'er.
 
 Our Exemplar. 61 
 
 OUR EXEMPLAR. 
 
 V\7'HEN Jesus lived with men below, 
 
 His life His love reveal'd : 
 To Him no human want or woe 
 In vain for help appeal'd. 
 
 The poor, the sick, the blind, the lame, 
 Flock'd round Him day by day ; 
 
 And O, not one of all that came 
 Went unreliev'd away ! 
 
 Then, if our lips His name confess, 
 His life should be our guide ; 
 
 And we with kindly deeds should bless 
 The poor for whom He died. 
 
 But if we live for self alone, 
 
 Nor care for others take, 
 The Lord, most surely, will disown 
 
 The pious shams we make.
 
 Sunset Hours. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 TTOW lovely are the blushing skies 
 
 When morning streaks the breezy hills ; 
 What odours then from Nature rise, 
 What harmony the welkin fills ! 
 
 Then, basking in the golden beams 
 
 With which the sultry noon is crown'd, 
 
 How rich the varied landscape seems, 
 How full of joy too deep for sound ! 
 
 Ah, well I love the morning's prime, 
 Nor less the noontide's glorious light ; 
 
 But dearer is the evening time, — 
 
 That lovely link 'tween day and night. 
 
 For then the time of rest has come, 
 
 That sets the weary toiler free ; 
 And fills the wand'rer's thoughts with home, 
 
 No matter where that wand'rer be.
 
 Evening. 65 
 
 When brightly o'er the rural vale 
 
 Its yellow star is ling'ring low, 
 How soft the airs that then prevail, 
 
 How musical the streamlets flow ! 
 
 Then old and young alike repose, 
 Alike forget their pain and care ; 
 
 In friendly chat their thoughts disclose, 
 And joys domestic fondly share. 
 
 How impotent were words to tell 
 
 The thoughts that move the exile's breast, 
 When, lonely by some flood or fell, 
 
 He sees that star gleam in the west ! 
 
 Then turns his eye towards the main, 
 
 And in the visions wafted o'er, 
 He sees his native land again, 
 
 Still lovely round its sunny shore. 
 
 And is it not in evening's shade, 
 
 When scarce a sunbeam streaks the sky, 
 
 That we sit where our dead are laid, 
 And feel that we, like them, must die ?
 
 />4 Sunset Hours. 
 
 Then on their graves we trembling place 
 
 The flowers our tears have moisten'd through 
 
 Fit emblems of a dying race, 
 x\nd of a Resurrection too. 
 
 But, better still ; the evening hour 
 
 Was surely for devotion given, 
 That we might feel, in measur'd power, 
 
 The holy calm and joy of heaven. 
 
 O let us then, while still we may, 
 
 Our prayers with its sweet voices blend, 
 
 And thus devoutly close the day, 
 Foretasting joys that ne'er shall end. 
 
 -*S™
 
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