Where Extremity Cowers

Between the blinding bliss of day-span
And sightless doom of night
Comes the mingling hours.
When the soul, mellowed by eventide aspect
Looks upon life in the still half light
Where extremity cowers.
Where, gone from the glare of over-sated mirth
And midnight dearth of dark dismay,
The soul beholds the sketch of the day
Traced forth in lines of a ruby colored grace;
Sees the Lord walking there in the cool of the day,
Where — awestruck — we meet Him,
Him! Whom lesser lights applaud!


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