I ANOTHER day is dying From out the golden year, Mists in the valley lying Proclaim that night is near, And little ones go home to rest With Jesus at each lowly breast. II While we whose thoughts are tying Us earthward day by day, Now doubting, now denying The God who is our Stay,— How can we lightly turn to rest, Our love for Jesus unconfess'd? III When in the midnight sighing For pity of our lot, The worldly heart relying On hopes that comfort not,— How happier did we seek our rest, All sorrow hush'd on Jesu's breast! IV And wide o'er all our crying His dove-like wings are spread, While Angel looms are plying His peace about our bed: Like little children, wholly blest, In Jesu's arms we sink to rest. V Oh, fast our days are flying! More fleetly as they speed! Within the Churchyard lying The many Christ hath freed: These have but ta'en their final rest And are asleep on Jesu's breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH IMPERTURBABLE by CONRAD AIKEN FOR OUR BETTER GRACES by JAMES GALVIN A SONG OF COURAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON POSTHUMOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 35 by JAMES JOYCE AGING TOGETHER by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMEDAY BOOK: JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |