FIRST AND LAST DAYS
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Lows thou the hour, the first of day,

 When the dewy flowers are opening bright When through the curtains of morning gray

 Are stealing streaks of crimson light? Hath it not power, spell? Doth it not to thy warm heart tell Of life, fresh, sparkling, newborn life, And scenes as yet too young for strife7 Lov'st thou the hour in twilight time.

 When every fcw'r is closing round, When fainter and fainter the far bells chime

 Comes with a soothing, dying sound7 Hath it not spell though it be Differing from the first for thee Doth it not tell of visions deep, And gradual dropping down to sleep? These hours are types and signs of thine:

 Thy first hour brought both smiles and tears, And called farth, faqliDgs haT divine

 In those who looked to fntnse years And watched how grew each features mould, And saw their little buds unfold, And trusted strife should never come, To cast on heart and brow gloom. And thy last bour-tis thine to make

 It calm as twiight's lovely time, A blessed sleep. from which towake,

 Will be to the better world to climb: Remember, lis thine--ay, thine-to choose, If storms shall take place of stars and dews, Or if thy spirit shall have power To make its parting like day last hour.