|EVENING met the morning,
When the bud began to bloom;
But the frost of night had blighted
The sweet flower in its bloom.
Close then its petals folded
And so quietly it lay,
A child of early morning,
In death at close of day.
The blighting frosts of springtime,
Have cut many proud hopes down,
While unfolding in their brightness___
How all happiness has flown.
Man conceives a fancy picture
Blooming with life's grandest hopes;
But his fostered hopes oft perish,
When in saddened gloom he gropes.
__James A. DeMoss
James A. DeMoss
(Thayer, Kansas: ___. 1892)