James Dixon (1814–1873)

LO! where the mountains mingle with the sky

A breaking light in all the glowing west!

And slowly now its lustre spreads on high,

As the veiled sun sinks calmly to his rest:

The broken clouds are bathed in golden light,

That mingle sweetly with the sky’s deep blue,

And, as the twilight fades, from heaven’s far height

The first bright star of eve is shining through:

The low wind’s voice falls gently on the ear,

And with it, to the lone and weary heart,

Comes a deep joy, that, could it ne’er depart,

Might make us sigh to dwell forever here:

It may not be! E’en from such glorious skies,

O, who can tell how sad a morn may rise!