The Hour Of Peace

HAIL! silent hour of peace serene,
No busy din disturbs the scene;
The sons of toil their labours close,
And taste the sweets of sound repose;
Pent within their safe retreat,
The slumb'ring sheep no longer bleat,
While round the field, with half-shut eye,
Cumbent the drowsy cattle lie:
The buzzing bee has sought her home,
Fraught with sweets to store the comb.
There's not a breeze to curl the rill,
And e'en the aspen leaf is still;
The sun himself seems sunk to rest,
His last faint gleam has streak'd the west;
The birds have sung their farewell lay,
Pour'd sweet to his departing ray;
And last of all the merry train,
The redbreast too has ceas'd his strain.
Hail! hour of Peace! the happy time,
To meditate on themes sublime;
In union with the tranquil scene,
The mind is sooth'd to thoughts serene;
The soul now feels her heav'nly birth,
Disdains the trivial joys on earth,
And pants to gain her promised rest,
'Mid the pure spirits of the blest.