Cometh The Night. The Wind Falls Low, The Trees Swing Slowly To And Fro: Around The Church The Headstones Grey Cluster, Like Children Strayed Away But Found Again, And Folded So. No Chiding Look Doth She Bestow: If She Is Glad, They Cannot Know; If Ill Or Well They Spend Their Day, Cometh The Night. Singing Or Sad, Intent They Go; They Do Not See The Shadows Grow; "There Yet Is Time," They Lightly Say, "Before Our Work Aside We Lay"; Their Task Is But Half-Done, And Lo! Cometh The Night.