See, how beneath the moonbeams’ smile Yon little billow heaves its breast, And foams and sparkles for awhile, And murmuring then subsides to rest. Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, Rises on time’s eventful sea; And having swelled a moment there, Thus melts into _eternity_. _Moore._ EVENING. _Evening_, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud: and he shall hear my voice.--Psalm lv. 17. It shall come to pass, that at _evening_ time it shall be light.--Zechariah, xiv. 7. Abide with us: for it is toward _evening_, and the day is far spent.--Luke, xxiv. 29. Now came still _evening_ on, and twilight grey Had in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accompanied; for beast and bird-- They to their grassy couch, these to their nests-- Were shrunk, all but the wakeful nightingale: She all night long her beauteous descant sung: Silence was pleased. Now glow’d the firmament With living sapphires. Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length, Apparent queen, unveil’d her peerless light, And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw: When Adam thus to Eve, “Fair consort, the hour Of night, and all things now retired to rest, Mind us of long repose, since God has set Labour and rest, as day and night to men Successive, and the timely dew of sleep, Now falling with soft cumbrous weight, inclines Our eyelids. Other creatures all day long Rove idle unemployed, and less need rest: Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed, which declares his dignity, And the regard of heaven on all his ways, While other animals inactive range, And of their doings God takes no account.” _Milton._ Then is the time For those whom wisdom, and whom nature charm, To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, And soar above this little scene of things; To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet, To soothe the throbbing passions into peace, And woo lone quiet in her silent walks. _Thomson._ The sun hath sunk behind the hill, But over earth, and sky, and air, _Eve’s_ crimson tints are glowing still, And tidings of to-morrow bear. Thus hope, when sinks life’s happiness, Upon our night of sorrow glows, Promising brighter, endless bliss, After our pilgrimage of woes. The longing heart, whose wishes spring To fond foreboding’s unknown land, Borrows imagination’s wing, Though fettered here in reason’s band.