Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Eventide
Eventide.
O sweet is Nature's quiet hour,
When twilight shadows peaceful fall
Around the scene, while soft repose
And hallowed thoughts are felt by all.
When twilight shadows peaceful fall
Around the scene, while soft repose
And hallowed thoughts are felt by all.
The busy din of work is stilled,
And wearied men their labours cease,
For pleasant thoughts of those at 'home,
Like twilight hours bring dreams of peace.
And wearied men their labours cease,
For pleasant thoughts of those at 'home,
Like twilight hours bring dreams of peace.
So from the outer world our home
Like twilight's peaceful calm should be,
For why should aught save sweet content
Our fireside circle ever see.
Like twilight's peaceful calm should be,
For why should aught save sweet content
Our fireside circle ever see.
When avaricious thoughts preclude
The better feelings of man's breast,
To kindly feelings he is dead,
And mammon ne'er will give him rest.
The better feelings of man's breast,
To kindly feelings he is dead,
And mammon ne'er will give him rest.
There is a little cosy nook,
A somebody that waits for me;
That for whose smile of sweet content,
The heartless miser I'd ne'er be.
A somebody that waits for me;
That for whose smile of sweet content,
The heartless miser I'd ne'er be.
For his proud dwelling I'd not change
My humble cosy little cot,
And for his wealth I would not give
One merry laugh from Little Dot.
My humble cosy little cot,
And for his wealth I would not give
One merry laugh from Little Dot.