THE light is dim in the western skies,
And in the dear old mother's eyes;
But the end of the chapter is so near,
And the truths of the chapter are so dear,
She must read to the close--till the light goes past,
And life has vanished from day at last.

And then with reverent hands she'll lay
The Book for a little while away;
And in the peace of her quiet room
Sit restfully thro' the twilight's gloom,
Busy with thoughts that come and go,
Like flitting shadows, to and fro.

"Even to her old age," ah! yes,
She has proven its truth and tenderness;
She has known her Lord thro' her many years,
She has trusted her Lord thro' hopes and fears;
She has felt Hit strength frown her youth till now,
When the hairy are "hoar" above her brow,

He has borne her safely thro' floods of woe,
He Han made her daily His care to know,
And her faithful heart, in its humble trust,
Feels all He does to be wise and just;
For "He Jill deliver," come grief and pain,
And after the clouds wend light again.

The dear Lord ruleth her life each day,
And now when comet the twilight gray
He still will read with His tender eyes,
So long as there's light it the western skies,
To the end of the chapter; then His breast
Will give to the ransomed soul its rest.