let evening come

My dad's good friend John read this poem at his funeral.  He read it so perfectly, with his slight southern accent and his slightly raspy voice.  He didn't try to force any rhythm upon it that wasn't natural.  It was just beautiful.

I saw John at our area ministerium meeting yesterday.  Poor guy, he walked in the door and I took one look at him and started to cry.  I could just see him up there reading.  Thankfully, he's a sweetheart and didn't take offense. (Of course not.)

I will always love this poem, although it will always pierce me to see it or hear it.  If you don't know these verses already, may they become beloved to you, too.

"Let Evening Come"

Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn,
moving up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing as a woman takes up her needles and her yarn.
Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned in long grass.
Let the stars appear and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den. Let the wind die down.
Let the shed go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't be afraid.
God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come.