Turning out of the London Road, down to Sapperton

Tired of the rude world's angry din,
Thine ear still echoing with the sounds
Of toil and strife, of gain and sin,
Welcome within our peaceful bounds!

Come down by moonlight, see the breath
Of slumbering autumn; how serene
'Tis gathering round lone copse and heath,
And o'er the deep rill's alder screen.

So silent all, you well might deem
'Twas midnight on the verge of morn,
But for the smoke's dim silvery wreath
From yon low-nestling cot upborne.

Such dewy breathings of delight
Who dearly love, and deeply scan,
May trace in every summer night,
Heaven teaching earth to comfort man.
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