Looks down on Zion’s hill;
The city sleeps; ’tis night’s calm moon,
And all the streets are still.
2 How soft, how holy, is the light!
And hark! a sweet, low song,
As gently as these dews of night,
Floats on the air along.
3 Affection’s wish, devotion’s prayer,
Are in that holy strain;
And hope and love and trust are there,