THE DAY IS DONE.
Words by Longfellow. Music by M. W. Balfe.
The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of night
As a feather is wafted downward from an eagle in his flight,
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, that my soul cannot resist;
A feeling of sadness and longing, that is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles rain.
Come, read to me some poem, some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters, not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo through the corridors of time.
For, like strains of martial music, their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor, and to -night I long for rest,
To-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet whose songs gushed from his heart, from his heart
As showers from the clouds of summer, or tears from the eyelids start,
Or tears from the eyelids start.
Who through long days of labor, and nights devoid of ease.
Still heard in his soul the music of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet the restless pulse of care.
And come like the benediction that follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music, and the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently, silently,
And as silently steal away.