Nighttime

 

The birds have ceased their calling
And everything lies still.
The little twinkling lights of home
Are seen from on the hill;
 
The stars are slowly rising
Adorning velvet sky,
The woods are breathing peacefully
Save for the hoot-owl’s cry.
 
And I, alone, look o’er the scene,
Night-breezes thread my hair,
And let the solemn stillness
Slowly wash away my care.
 
For somehow when the moon shines bright
Upon earth’s lowly sod,
I feel the stars are very near,
And nearer still is God.