59 | Stockwell. 8s & 7s
Silently the shades of evening
Gather round my lowly door;
Silently they bring before me
Faces I shall see no more.
2 O the lost, the unforgotten,
Tho’ the world be oft forgot!
O the shrouded and the lonely!
In our hearts they perish not.
3 Living in the silent hours,
Where our spirits only blend—
They, unlinked with earthly trouble;
We, still hoping for its end.
4 How such holy memories cluster,
Like the stars when storms are past;
Pointing up to that far heaven
We may hope to gain at last.
C.C. Cox