Misty forms of mystic seeming
Hover near;
Memory's myriad tapers gleaming
Light old scenes and make them clear--

Morn's vain hopes, and noon's stern sorrows,
Tears and cares;
Days of toiling, and to-morrow's
Bringing less of wheat than tares.

And the chequered, varied pages
Of life's book
Seem a sea whose calms and rages
Now the tired heart cannot brook.

Evening calm! ah, best and purest
Time of peace;
Soothing balm, when hope is surest,
To bid all vain doubting cease.

Pointing on, when near the pleasant,
Rest awaits;
When we leave this weary present
And have gained the pearly gates.

And as evening shadows, creeping,
Gather round
Dim eyes, worn so weak with weeping,
Learn to smile as peace is found.