Classic Poem

1

It is the silent hour when they who roam,
Seek shelter, on the earth, or ocean's breast;
It is the hour when travel finds a home,
On deserts, or within the cot to rest.
It is the hour when joy and grief are blest,
And Nature finds repose where'er she roves;
It is the hour that lovers like the best,
When in the twilight shades, or darker groves,
The maiden wanders with the swain she loves.

2

The balmy hour when fond hearts fondly meet;
The hour when dew like welcome rest descends
On wild-flowers, shedding forth their odours sweet;
The hour when sleep lays foes as quiet friends; —
The hour when labour's toilworn journey ends,
And seeks the cot for sweet repose till morn; —
The hour when prayer from all to God ascends; —
At twilight's hour love's softest sighs are born,
When lovers linger neath the flowering thorn.

3

Oh! at this hour I love to be abroad,
Gazing upon the moonlit scene around
" Looking through Nature up to Nature's God"
Regarding all with reverence profound!
The wild flowers studding every inch of ground,
And trees, with dews bespangled, looking bright
As burnished silver; — while the entrancing sound
Of melody, from the sweet bird of night,
Fills my whole soul with rapture and delight.