Classic Poem

Upon a hill-side green and fair
The happy traveller sees
White cottages peep here and there
Between the tufts of trees;
With a white farm-house on the brow,
And an old grey Hall below
With moat and garden round;
And on a Sabbath wandering near
Through all the quiet place you hear
A Sabbath-breathing sound
Of the church-bell slowly swinging
In an old grey tower above
The wooded hill, where birds are singing
In the deep quiet of the grove;—
And when the bell shall cease to ring,
And the birds no longer sing,
And the grasshopper is heard no more,
A sound of praise, of prayer,
Rises along the air,
Like the sea murmur from a distant shore.