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 The evening table where the loved were wont Nightly to gather; or at will to sit Beneath the old familiar trees that hang O'erarching by the door, as long ago, And seem of all things least to have changed with years. Ay more—'tis given to greet the oft return Of children who, to filial duty true And childhood's fresh remembrances, come back To tread again the haunts for ever dear; To hear grand-children's prattle and to watch Their childish raptures as on grandsire's knee They drink in, all attent, the well-told tale. These are the tranquil pleasures left to age When towards the sunset verges life's long day. With these, deep in the trustful, loving soul That 'mid life's turmoil walked by faith with God, And, far above earth's ever shifting sands, Builded on solid rock immortal hopes; There come, as night draws nearer, glimpses oft, And blest anticipations, of the realm