  In the evening Mysteries come creeping into our garden, And the slanting beams of the settling sun Enhance, by their mellowing glow, The loveliness of trees and lawns and flowers. The weeds now have their hour of beauty, The dying cedar hedge is fashioned of golden tissue, The falling apple blossoms are fairy butterflies, And the peace of God Enfolds the troubled heart of man! As the evening of life draws on, Memory, the wonder worker, casts her magic spell Over the past, with its strivings and failures, Its sorrows and hardships, Mingling them with its joys and successes, Till “the good old days” become as perfect As our garden, In the twilight hour! |
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