At Eventide

Red shines the sun thro' the purple gloaming Across the sea and athwart the sand, Where the weary billows moan upward foaming, Sobbing aloud on the pebbled strand. A night-black curtain of cloud descending, Hangs o'er the rift where the sinking sun Shines out once more ere the daylight's ending, One short hour ere the day be done. Many a ship on the tooth'd reefs leaping Will go to her doom 'mid the cold salt spray, Ere the early dawn, o'er the skyline creeping, Sadly gleam o'er the waters grey. The fishers come into the peaceful haven; Faintly the foam on the bar gleams white; Dark is the sky as the wings of a raven: God speed all sailors at sea to-night!