University of Virginia Library

It is deep midnight; on the verdant hills
In beauty spread, the broad white moonlight lies.
No sound is heard save that the grey owl hoots,
At intervals, in the old mossy wood,
Or save the rustle of the aspen leaves,
That ceaseless turn upon their slender stems,
When not a breath is felt in all the heaven.
Standing upon an eminence, I see
The haunts of men around. The world is still.
The busy and the bustling are at rest;
Their mingled voices do not fill the air,
As when I tread these haunts at noon of day.
The birds are silent now, and the tired beasts
Are slunk to rest. Almost beneath my feet
Stand cottages, the dwellings of the poor;
And prouder mansions of the rich and great.
The cottager and all his little ones
Are slumbering now; theirs is a sweeter sleep
Than luxury and wealth can ever give.
Not distant far, upon a gentle swell,
With its background of orcharding and wood,
And more immediate circle of green trees,
My much loved home, my native dwelling stands.
Its roof is glimmering in the white moonshine,
And all its inmates, save myself, at rest.
I see the little brook meandering there,
But do not hear its voice; the trembling light
Of the full moon falls on its shifting waves,
And is thrown back in flashes on my eye.
How sweet the stillness of this midnight hour!
It banishes the cares of busy life.
The Spirit of the Mightiest is abroad;—
It fills the boundless air, the spreading wood,
The wilds, the lonely deserts of the earth,
And all her populous realms.

In a few hours,
The rosy morn will break upon the hills,
And all these sleepers start to life again.
The gay to spend another day of mirth;
The housewife to her toil; the laboring man
To his accustomed task. The little birds
That perch in silence on these lofty trees,
Shall then break forth in songs, wild woodland songs,
Such as were chanted on the sixth day's morn
In Eden's bowers, to hail the birth of man.
And Summer's morning wind shall breathe again,
And toss the dew-drops from the forest leaves,
And all this solemn stillness be exchanged
For murmur and for motion.

Standing here,
And looking on this varied scenery, spread
So beautiful around, I feel a power,
As of the Great Omnipotent upon me,
That calls my heart to worship; I will kneel,
Here by the side of this o'erhanging wood,
And like the patriarchs of ancient time,
Who worshipped on the mountains, offer up
Beneath heaven's mighty arch, my humble hymn
To the great Keeper of the sleeping world.