I STOOD on the mountain summit, At the hour when the sun did set; I mark'd how it hung o'er the woodland The evening's golden net. And, with the dew descending, A peace on the earth there fell— And nature lay hushed in quiet, At the voice of the evening bell. I said, "O heart, consider What silence all things keep, And with each child of the meadow Prepare thyself to sleep! "For every flower is closing In silence its little eye; And every wave in the brooklet More softly murmureth by. "The weary caterpillar Hath nestled beneath the weeds; All wet with dew now slumbers The dragon-fly in the reeds. "The golden beetle hath laid him In a rose-leaf cradle to rock; Now went to their nightly shelter The shepherd and his flock. "The lark from on high is seeking In the moistened grass her nest; The hart and the hind have laid them In their woodland haunt to rest. "And whoso owneth a cottage To slumber hath laid him down; And he that roams among strangers In dreams shall behold his own." And now doth a yearning seize me, At this hour of peace and love, That I cannot reach the dwelling, The home that is mine, above. |