From texts like this, Time loves to preach.
Daylight is dying in the west;
The leaden night-clouds blot the sky;
Across the fields, the pewit’s cry
Only makes deeper nature’s rest.
The water-wheel stands at the mill,
The fisher leaves the sandy shore,
By garden gate and unlatched door
Lassies and lads are meeting still.
Beside me stand the kirk and manse,