Dark haunts of desolation.
The murderer’s sword hath left the sheath,
When from the bright pure heaven above,
And smiling earth, there seemed to breathe
But peace, and joy, and love.
And even now, when blushing morn,
On rosy clouds by zephyrs borne,
Comes in her laughing loveliness
The world to brighten and to bless,
It were more meet that heaven should shroud