From that high mount of God whence light and shade
Spring both, the face of brightest heaven had changed
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From that high mount of God whence light and shade
Spring both, the face of brightest heaven had changed
To grateful twilight.

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Stilled is the read more

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke
When round the ruins of their ancient oak
The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play,
And games and carols closed the busy day.

The lengthening shadows wait
The first pale stars of twilight.

The lengthening shadows wait
The first pale stars of twilight.

The west is broken into bars
Of orange, gold, and gray;
Gone is the sun, come are read more

The west is broken into bars
Of orange, gold, and gray;
Gone is the sun, come are the stars,
And night infolds the day.

. . . th' approach of night
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews read more

. . . th' approach of night
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.

The sunbeams dropped
Their gold, and, passing in porch and niche,
Softened to shadows, silvery, pale, and read more

The sunbeams dropped
Their gold, and, passing in porch and niche,
Softened to shadows, silvery, pale, and dim,
As if the very Day paused and grew Eve.

In the twilight of morning to climb to the top of the mountain,--
Thee to salute, kindly star, earliest read more

In the twilight of morning to climb to the top of the mountain,--
Thee to salute, kindly star, earliest herald of day,--
And to await, with impatience, the gaze of the ruler of heaven.--
Youthful delight, oh, how oft lur'st thou me out in the night.

How lovely are the portals of the night,
When stars come out to watch the daylight die.

How lovely are the portals of the night,
When stars come out to watch the daylight die.

The sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
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The sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
Slowly upon the amber air unrolled,
The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.