About men's eyes indifferently; Our voice, which thrilled you so, will let You sleep: our tears are only wet; What do we here, my heart and I? So tired, so tired, my heart and I! When Ralph sat with me 'neath the line "Dear love, you're looking tired," he said; So tired, so tired, my heart and I! Tired out we are, my heart and I! A pretty child or God's blue Heaven, Yet who complains? My heart and I! COMING. ANONYMOUS. “At even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning." Mark xiii. 35. It may be in the evening, When the work of the day is done, While the long bright day dies slowly Over the sea, And the hour grows quiet and holy With thoughts of me; While you hear the village children May come the sound of my feet: By the light of the evening star, When the room is growing dusky As the clouds afar; Let the door be on the latch In your home, For it may be through the gleaming I will come. It may be when the midnight Is heavy upon the land, And the black waves lying dumbly Along the sand; When the moonless night draws closely, And the lights are out in the house; When the fires burn low and red, And the watch is ticking loudly Beside the bed; Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch, Still your heart must wake and watch In the dark room, For it may be that at midnight I will come. It may be at the cock-crow, When the night is dying slowly In the sky, And the sea looks calm and holy, Waiting for the dawn Of the golden sun Which draweth nigh; When the mists are on the valleys shading The river's chill, And my morning star is fading, fading Over the hill; |