Evening Vesper

It tips against the evening sky

The edge of Time and all its girth

A crimson-tinted lullaby

In breathless nuance bathes the earth

The progress of man’s centuries

Lies mute ‘neath Eden’s unmarred dome

As Heaven spills its mysteries

In foreshadows of things to come

Man cannot blemish heaven’s floor

The thief of hours cannot steal

The brush from He who holds the Door

Through which vague shades of glory peal

It fingers twilight’s solitude

In pure and unrestrained caress

A timeless masterpiece renewed

In sundry tones of awesomeness

The sheaves of harvest deck the sod

As just and unjust taste its fare

The wondrous handiwork of God

Spills freely on the evening air

Unto its breadth we lift our eyes

A glorious and gilded scrim

Twixt toil and tears and Paradise

We behold whispers of Him

© Janet Martin

The heavens declare the glory of God;
    the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
    night after night they reveal knowledge.  
 They have no speech, they use no words;
    no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
    their words to the ends of the world.
In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.
    It is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,
    like a champion rejoicing to run his course. 
 It rises at one end of the heavens
    and makes its circuit to the other;
    nothing is deprived of its warmth.

Psalms 19:1-6