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EVENING BRINGS US HOME (continued)

From our toilings and our moilings, from the quest of daily bread,

From the worship of our idols, and the burying of our dead,

Like children, worn and weary

With the way so long and dreary,

Evening brings us home at last,
To rest, and love, and Thee.

From our journeyings oft and many over strange and stormy seas,

From our search the wide world over for the

larger liberties,

From our labours vast and various,

With our harvestings precarious,

Evening brings us home at last,
To safety, rest, and Thee.

From the yet-untrodden No-Lands, where we sought Thy secrets out,

From the blizzards of the Nightlands, and the

blazing White-Lands' drought,

From the undiscovered country

Where our IS is yet to be,

Evening brings us home at last,
To welcome cheer, and Thee.

EVENING BRINGS US HOME (continued)

From the temples of our living, all empurpled with Thy giving,

From the warp of life thick-threaded with the gold of Thine inweaving,

From the days so full of splendour,

From the visions rare and tender,

Evening brings us home at last,
To quiet rest in Thee.

From the Dim-Lands, from the Grim-Lands, from the Lands of High Emprise,

From the Lands of Disillusion to the Truth that never dies;

With rejoicing and with singing,

Each his rightful sheaves home-bringing,-
Evening brings us all at last,

To Harvest-Home with Thee.

From the fields of fiery trying, where our bravest and our best,

By their living and their dying their souls' high

faith attest,

From these dread, red fields of sorrow,
From the fight for Thy To-morrow,—

Evening brings each one at last,
To GOD'S own Peace in Thee.

THE REAPER

All through the blood-red Autumn,
When the harvest came to the full;
When the days were sweet with sunshine,
And the nights were wonderful,—

The Reaper reaped without ceasing.

All through the roaring Winter,

When the skies were black with wrath,
When earth alone slept soundly,

And the seas were white with froth,—
The Reaper reaped without ceasing.

All through the quick of the Spring-time,
When the birds sang cheerily,

When the trees and the flowers were bur-
geoning,

And men went wearily,

The Reaper reaped without ceasing.

All through the blazing Summer,

When the year was at its best,

When Earth, subserving God alone,
In her fairest robes was dressed,-

The Reaper reaped without ceasing.

THE REAPER (continued)

So, through the Seasons' roundings,
While nature waxed and waned,
And only man by thrall of man
Was scarred and marred and stained,—
The Reaper reaped without ceasing.

How long, O Lord, shall the Reaper
Harry the growing field?

Stretch out Thy Hand and stay him,
Lest the future no fruit yield!-

And the Gleaner find nought for His
gleaning.

Thy Might alone can end it,—

This fratricidal strife.

Our souls are sick with the tale of death,
Redeem us back to life!—

That the Gleaner be glad in His glean
ing.

NO MAN GOETH ALONE

Where one is,

There am I,—

No man goeth alone!

Though he fly to earth's remotest bound, Though his soul in the depths of sin be drowned,—

No man goeth alone!

Though he take him the wings of fear, and flee Past the outermost realms of light;

Though he weave him a garment of mystery, And hide in the womb of night,—

No man goeth alone!

Though apart in the city's heart he dwell,

Though he wander beyond the stars,

Though he bury himself in his nethermost hell, And vanish behind the bars,

No man goeth alone!

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