Just a Thought at Twilight When my Spirit’s Low
Music is throbbing in my ears
A Christian hymn sung at twilight
Faintly it dies with the breeze then nears
As the human notes gain in might
It’s Sunday evening and the first day of May
I’m thinking of my home in the foothills
And I wish I were there to enjoy this day
Where the meadowlarks voice throbs and trills
The city has many large and magnificent churches
Where the people gather in crowds to worship God for an hour or two
But all day in the country where’er your eye searches
Your heart humbly praises the Master of the picturesque view
I wish I were back to my kinfolk again
And to the hills and the mountains dear
To help plow the fields and to plant the rich grain
Which feeds all these mouths who at the farmers sneer
(On the back is written: Please return to me because this is the only copy I’ve got and I have promised to send Jean all my attempts at poetry. E.A.B.)