21 SEPTEMBER 1912, Page 16



THE drear day ringeth to evensong in the dark and murky town,

And even we, though not for long, may lay our burdens down. We that are broken and poor and old, we that are bent and grey,

May rest in our garrets bare and cold till the dawn of the weary day.

Now let us speak to our only Friend, Who hears us when we pray, That we endure until the end, nor turn from the bitter Way. We are beaten and broken and set apart from the Pride of Life so fair, But we thank our Friend, with a brimming heart, that we yet have strength to bear.

Oh, may we bear till the heavy load may be laid for ever down, And each may take a certain Road that leads from the murky town, From the dreary Town of Evil Chance, and over the hills so blue, Till we win to the Land of True Romance, where the old, old tales are true.

Each by himself we must fare, we know, but the way it is plain to see ; Straighter than homing birds we'll go, to the land where we fain would be ; Oh, the way it is plain for the poor to find, to the Gate we may lightly win, And we trust to the Grace of our Father kind, to open and let us in.