PART VII.

In the Twilight.

When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more.

LONGFELLOW.

PART VII.

In the Twilight.

TWILIGHT'S HOUR.

THE sunlight on a waveless sea

The softened radiance fadeth slowly;
The folded flower, the mist-crowned tree,
Proclaim the gathering twilight holy.

It is the hour when passion bows;

A solemn stillness round us lingers;
And on our wildly throbbing brows
We feel the touch of angel fingers.

It is the hour when lovers fond

(For love its native air is breathing) Drape with fair hopes life's drear beyond, Gay garlands for the future wreathing.

It is the hour when in far land

The wanderer, tired of ceaseless roaming,
Longs for the clasp of kindred hand,

And the dear home enwrapt in gloaming.

It is the hour when mankind hears,

Amid earth's mingled moans and laughter,
Chords which will swell when unborn years
Are buried in the great hereafter.

Chambers's Journal.

W. F. E. I

THE AFTERMATH.

THE glamour of the after-light
Lay clear and fair along the sky,
And made the pathway eerie bright
As home we wandered thou and I.

The meadow mists were lying low,
A shadow held the river-side,
The water took the western glow,

And peace, gray peace, spread far and wide.

A sober-heartedness was ours

So still the earth, the sky so strange;
And we had given in sunny hours
Our youthful hearts their widest range.

We lingered in the meadow path,

Touched by the twilight's silent spell,
While from the sun's fleet aftermath
A subtile glory rose and fell.

Dim, wistful thoughts within us grew,
Forebodings of the life to be,
Till with a sudden thrill we knew
Time's touch of immortality.

For all the wonder and the awe,
Far-widening within the west,
Seemed with a mystic power to draw
Our hearts into its kindly rest.

Yet still it faded, faded fast,

And night crept up the eastern slope;
But o'er our lives a strength had passed,
And left us with a larger hope.

That night, sweet wife, so long ago,
And still we watch the western sky,
And strengthen in its mystic glow.

Good Words.

JAMES HENDRY

TWILIGHT DREAMS.

THEY Come in the quiet twilight hour,
When the weary day is done,

And the quick light leaps from the glowing heaps
Of wood on the warm hearthstone.

When the household sounds have died away,

And the rooms are silent all,

Save the clock's brief tick, and the sudden click
Of the embers as they fall;