A pasturage, where fleecy cloud-flocks win
Uncertain nurture from pelagian mist,
The singing of a feathered rhapsodist
Sounds from the darkening wood: O Night begin!
Bright pageant of the stars, come, usher in
The hour when Peace, a potent exorcist,
Casts out the turbulence and fret of day.
Now as the last faint bird notes die away,
And sunset’s glory fades from out the west,
Cometh an angel and his name is Rest.