Still are the evening dews, so still that none
Eer saw them settle on the flowers, or heard
Their noiseless falling, or could even tell
How, or whence came down this gracelike dew,
Causing the waste to bring forthplenteously.
The Spirit's fruits — repentance, faith , and love,
And hope, and joy ; these, too, are silent, pure,
And irresistible .
THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR .
Muse of the groves declare
What soft but startling sound,
Then stirred the breathless air,
And broke the calm profound ;
It was the last sear leaf that fell
From yonder oak that skirts the dell.
I watched the settling deep,
When died the breezy gale,
Its last wave sank to sleep ,
And passed its last white sail ;
Nor heard was plash of seaman's oar,
Along the silent winding shore.
Hark ! ' twas the village bell,
It struck the year's last hour,
It tolled the thrilling knell
Of beauty and of power
Ofbeauty , with the past year filed ;
Of power, now cloistered with the dead.
Again — it was the song
That hailed the closing year ;
It echoed loud and long
Upon my gladdened ear :
The living - let the living praise
The Giver, Guardian of his days.
My soul, the strain be thine,
Nor let it ever cease ;
For all the beams that shine
Of mercy , hope, and peace ;
That fling their glory on my way,
And cheer me to the year's last day.
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