At Twilight

Was it so long? It seems so brief a whileSince this still hour between the day and darkWas ligntened by a little fellow’s smile;Since we were wont to markThe sunset’s crimson dim to gold, to gray,Content to know that, though he loved to roamCare-free among the comrades of his play,Twilight would lead him home.

A year ago! The well-remembered hailOf happy-hearted children on the greenWe hear to-night, and see the sunset pale,The distant hills between:But when the busy feet shall homeward turn,When little wearied heads shall seek for rest,Where shall you find the weight for which you yearn,Ah, tender mother-breast?

Dear lips, that in the twilight hushed and dimLulled him with murmured fantasies of song;Dear slender arms, that safely sheltered him,The empty years are long!The night’s caressing wind moves babbling on,And all the whispered gossip of the firsIs busy with his name who now is gone—My little lad and hers!

But if we so, with eager eyes and glad,Looked forward to his coming in the gloom;If so our hearts leaped out to meet the ladWhose smile lit all the room,—Shall there not be a Presence waiting thusTo still the bitter craving of the quest?Shall there not be a welcome, too, for usWhen we go home to rest?

Yes, God be thanked for this: the ashen-gownedSweet presence of the twilight, and, afar,The strong, enduring hills, in beauty crownedWith one white, steadfast star!A year ago? What, love, to us are years?The selfsame twilight, cool, and calm, and dim,That led him home to us, despite our fears,Shall lead us home to him!