noon
As we gaze around , and feel the chill air damp each ringlet on the pallid brow ; know that _ that _ hour hath cast a shade on each inanimate thing around us ; we feel resigned to our bereavements , and confess , in our heart 's humility , that no changes _ should _ overwhelm , and that no grief _ should _ awaken repinings . To many a bruised and stricken spirit , night imparts a grateful balm . In the morning , the feelings are too fresh ; -- oblivion is exchanged for conscious suffering ; -- the merriment of the feathered songsters seems to us as a taunt ; -- our sympathies are not with waking nature . The glare and splendour of noon , bid us recal _ our _ hopes , and their signal overthrow . The zenith of day 's lustre meets us as a wilful mockery . Eve may bring rest , but on her breast is memory . But at night !