THE DAY IS DONE 
                          by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


                         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.

                         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 the rain.
 
                         Come, read to me some poem,
                         Some simple and heartfelt lay,
                         That shall soothe this restless feeling,
                         And banish the thoughts of day.

                         Such songs have power to quiet
                         The restless pulse of care,
                         And come like the benediction 
                         That follows after prayer.

                         Then read to me 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 steal away.


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