The heat of mid-day’s sun is past,
Thrice grateful evening comes at last.
Dispelling now the cares of day,
Soft, gentle zephyrs round us play.
While in the west, its course full run,
Slow fades from sight the setting sun,
Shedding afar its glorious beams
O’er rippling lake and mountain streams.
While blended by a touch Divine,
Lo! myriad hues in splendor shine
From tinted clouds neath sky of blue—
No scene so old, ah! none so new.
Yes, God, Himself, the artist is;
No work of man can vie with His.
But while we gaze with admiring eyes
Upon the beauties of the skies,
Adore the One who made them thus,
And praise Him for His love to us;
What greater joy is ours to know
That where the heavens in splendor glow,
Amid the clouds of snowy white,
Our blessed Lord may come tonight!
Yes! in those clouds we’ll meet the One
Whose dazzling rays surpass the sun—
Whose beauties and majestic worth
Surpass e’en His own works on earth
What wondrous, cheering, gladdening hope!
E’en as we gaze the heavens may ope;
And in a moment, one with Him,
Earth’s charms no more our sight to dim,
Up there, forever, all His own,
We’ll see and know as we are known.
ML 08/09/1903