About men's eyes indifferently;
Our voice, which thrilled you so, will let
You sleep: our tears are only wet;
What do we here, my heart and I?
So tired, so tired, my heart and II
It was not thus in the old time
When Ralph sat with me 'neath the line
To watch the sun set from the sky;
"Dear love, you're looking tired," he said;
I, smiling at him, shook my head;
Tis now we're tired, my heart and I.
So tired, so tired, my heart and I!
Though now none takes me on his art
To fold me close and kiss me warm,
Till each quick breath end in a sigh
Of happy languor. Now alone,
Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and L.
Tired out we are, my heart and I!
Suppose the world brought diadems
To tempt us, crusted with loose gems
Of powers and pleasures? Let it try.
We scarcely dare to look at even
A pretty child or God's blue Heaven,
We feel so tired, my heart and I.
Yet who complains? My heart and I!
In this abundant earth, no doubt,
Is little room for things worn out;
Disdain them, break them, throw them by,
And if before the day grows rough
We once were loved, used-well enough
I think we've fared, my heart and I!
“At even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning." Mark xiii. 35.
It may be in the evening,
When the work of the day is done,
And you have time to sit in the twilight
And watch the sinking sun-