HARK! 'TIS THE BREEZE.

(AIR.—ROUSSEAU.)

Hark! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling;

  Earth's weary children to repose;

While, round the couch of Nature falling,

  Gently the night's soft curtains close.

Soon o'er a world, in sleep reclining,

  Numberless stars, thro' yonder dark,

Shall look, like eyes of Cherubs shining

  From out the veils that hid the Ark.

Guard us, oh Thou, who never sleepest,

  Thou who in silence throned above,

Throughout all time, unwearied, keepest

  Thy watch of Glory, Power, and Love.

Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely,

  Our souls awhile from life withdrawn

May in their darkness stilly, purely,

  Like "sealed fountains," rest till dawn.

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