An Evening Thought

Now down the steep of Heav'n the source of day Pursues, unwearied, his diurnal way; Mild shine his rays, his beams serene descend, And o'er the earth a sweet effulgence send. The blust'ring winds a pleasing silence keep, And in their caves, with folded pinions, sleep. No longer from the cloud descends the rain, But a clear azure spreads th' etherial plain; A solemn, pleasing silence, hovers round, And peace, with downy wing, o'erspreads the ground. While silver Cynthia sheds her milder light, And ushers in the awful reign of night. So when the lamp of life shall dimly burn, And this frail frame to kindred dust return, May the rude strife of earth-born passions cease, And life's short journey terminate in peace. May then no cares terrestrial break my rest, Or keen reflections discompose my breast. May then no fears, no dread of ills to come, Make me shrink back with terror from the tomb; But when the awful mandate from on high The sentence shall proclaim, that bids me die, Resign'd and peaceful, let me bow my head, And Heav'n enjoy, when number'd with the dead.