THE evening star will twinkle presently. 

The last small bird is silent, and the bee 

Has gone into his hive, and the shut flowers 

Are bending as if sleeping on the stem, 

And all sweet living things are slumbering 

In the deep hush of nature's resting time. 

The faded west looks deep, as if its blue 

Were searchable, and even as I look, 

The twilight hath stole over it, and made 

Its liquid eye apparent, and above 

To the far-stretching zenith, and around, 

As if they waited on her like a queen, 

Have stolen out the innumerable stars, 

To twinkle like intelligence in heaven.

 N. P. Willis

NEVER despair! Never despair! 

The clouds may look black,

But the sun in his track 

Is shining somewhere,

And will surely come back. 

The wave may be deep 

And the night may be dark, 

But the God of the storm is guiding the ark.