Benedictus

Something so tender fills the air to-day.
What it may be, or mean, no voice can say,
But all the harsh, hard things seem far away.

Something so restful lies on lake and shore,
The world seems anchored, and life's petty war
Of haste and labour gone for evermore.

Something so holy lies upon the land,
Like to a blessing from a saintly hand,
A peace we feel, though cannot understand.
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