Peaceful Scenes at Eventide

Often when the busy activities of the day and unusual periods of stress intrude on my psyche, I like to retreat to the quiet memories of eventide. I particularly remember, as a small boy, the feeling of safety that I would experience on a Sunday evening in church, sitting with my head against my father's arm. In my mind I can still smell the wool of his suit coat. I remember those wonderful evening hymns that we would occasionally sing. In most churches, evening services are a thing of the past. We don't sing those evening hymns any more. I still enjoy singing: "Softly Now the Light of Day," "Now the Day is Over," and "Abide with Me" among other great evening hymns.

I remember how we used to get in the car when I was a child and go for a drive in the evening. We would always drive back roads out into the countryside. Sometimes we would pass the house of a family friend and stop to chat for a few minutes. We would usually fall asleep by the time we got home. We don't go for drives anymore as a way to relax in the evening. With all the traffic, driving is no longer relaxing, even on country roads.

I remember the old print of "The Angelus" by Millet that hung in our house. I always wanted to stand in that field with the farmer and his wife who stopped to pray as they worked the field in the cool of the evening. I guess the closest I came to that were the evenings I spent with my wife and children sitting around a campfire when we went camping. Indeed, those were peaceful times.

I remember my father reading that wonderful poem by Thomas Gray, entitled "Elegy, Written in a Country Churchyard." I always tired of it after awhile, but the first few lines are very familiar. They give you that real sense of peace, which comes in the evening. Let me share the first 4 verses with you. If it whets your appetite, you can go look up the rest of it. God grant you peaceful rest this night.

- The Old Professor

Copyright © Jay D Weaver - December 17, 2002




Millet's Angelus
The Angelus by Millet
Thomas Gray 1716-1771
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.


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