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The Night Cometh

Cometh the night.  The wind falls low,

The trees swing slowly to and fro:

Around the church the headstones grey Cluster, like children strayed

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.

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John McCrae

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (November 30, 1872 – January 28, 1918) was a Canadian poet, physician, author, artist and soldier during Worl…

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