Cover the embers,

And put out the light;

Toil comes with the morning,

And rest with the night.

II.

The book is completed,

And closed, like the day;

And the hand that has written t

Lays it away.

Dim grow its fancies,

Forgotten they lie ;

Like coals in the ashes,

They darken and die.

Song sinks into silence,

The story is told,

The windows are darkened,

The hearth-stone is cold.