CONSOLATION

Come to me, shadows, down the hill,

Lie softly at my feet.

The sun has worked his will

And the day is done.

Come to me softly and distil

Your dews and dreams, that heat

And hours of heartless glare have overrun.

Come to me, shadows, down the hill

And bring with you the night,

Fire-flies and the whippoorwill

And ah, the moon —

Whose soft interpretings can still

The tangled tongues of right

And wrong, and hope and fear, that haunt the noon.

Come to me, shadows, down the hill —

And let there follow Sleep,

Which is God's tidal Will

That overflows

The world — obliterating ill,

And in its soothing sweep

Murmuring more of mercy than man knows.