Hushed was the tumult of the day,
The evening's wonted breeze was still,
The placid moon, with silver ray,
Chequered the groves of vale and hill,
And not a cloud o'er all the sky,
Was witnessed by my wandering eye.
The light was out in each lone cot,
The farmer slept at nature's call,
And sound or action reached me not,
Save but the cricket in the wall.
The beast was on his lair; his breast
The bird had pillowed on his nest.
Then thought my soul of each dear scene,
Where childhood sported gay and boon;
The gambols on the village green,
Beneath the pale and watchful moon,
When friends and nature had a charm
The sting of sorrow to disarm.
Nor did my soul find resting here;
But prompted by this hour of bliss,
She soared above this earthly sphere,
And found a scene more calm than this;
A heaven, where there is endless joy,
No cares invade, no griefs annoy.
— The Religious Offering (1835).