The Evening brings all home. For that we wait
The evening brings all home. For that we wait,
Which is it once our evening and our morn,
The end of evil and the dawn of good.
October sheds the leaf and April brings it;
So one flower fadeth and another springs;
Earth renovates itself. When we are gone,
Our homes will not be vacant; and the crowds
Will swell our cities as when we were there.
Earth liveth on and on amid this change,
Or with us or without us to the end.
That end, ah, would that it were come! All things
Press forward to it, and cry out, Delay not;
For hope deferred has sickened the sad heart,
And men are asking, Shall it ever come?
Shake down your leaves, O many-tinted trees
Of dying autumn; let the forest gale
Of the unsparing north search through and through
Your desolate boughs, and heap the earth with sackcloth.
Another winter soon will lie behind us, —
One winter less to come ere the long spring
Shall o'er us shed its beauty and its balm!
Fling down your stars, O skies! O waiting earth!
Heave with thy final earthquake; and, O sea!
Let loose thy last stern tempest for the day
Of nature's shock, above us and beneath;
Speed on Creation's travail-throes, from which
There comes at last the perfect and the fair.
Which is it once our evening and our morn,
The end of evil and the dawn of good.
October sheds the leaf and April brings it;
So one flower fadeth and another springs;
Earth renovates itself. When we are gone,
Our homes will not be vacant; and the crowds
Will swell our cities as when we were there.
Earth liveth on and on amid this change,
Or with us or without us to the end.
That end, ah, would that it were come! All things
Press forward to it, and cry out, Delay not;
For hope deferred has sickened the sad heart,
And men are asking, Shall it ever come?
Shake down your leaves, O many-tinted trees
Of dying autumn; let the forest gale
Of the unsparing north search through and through
Your desolate boughs, and heap the earth with sackcloth.
Another winter soon will lie behind us, —
One winter less to come ere the long spring
Shall o'er us shed its beauty and its balm!
Fling down your stars, O skies! O waiting earth!
Heave with thy final earthquake; and, O sea!
Let loose thy last stern tempest for the day
Of nature's shock, above us and beneath;
Speed on Creation's travail-throes, from which
There comes at last the perfect and the fair.
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