But he had
promised her to be brave and unselfish, and . . . there was always the
evening hymn to fall back upon.
_Now the day is over,_
_Night is drawing nigh,_
_Shadows of the evening_
_Steal across the sky._
Mark thought of a beautiful evening in the country as beheld in a Summer
Number, more of an afternoon really than an evening, with trees making
shadows right across a golden field, and spotted cows in the foreground.
It was a blissful and completely soothing picture while it lasted; but
it soon died away, and he was back in the midway of a London night with
icy stretches of sheet to right and left of him instead of golden
fields.
_Now the darkness gathers,_
_Stars begin to peep,_
_Birds and beasts and flowers_
_Soon will be asleep._
But rats did not sleep; they were at their worst and wake-fullest in the
night time.
_Jesu, give the weary_
_Calm and sweet repose,_
_With thy tenderest blessing_
_May mine eyelids close._
Mark waited a full five seconds in the hope that he need not finish the
hymn; but when he found that he was not asleep after five seconds he
resumed:
_Grant to little children_
_Visions bright of Thee;_
_Guard the sailors tossing_
_On the deep blue sea.
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