 | Ballads of the War |  |
86
Saturday Night and Sunday Morn
A Contrast, February 24-25
SATURDAY NIGHT
Now sleep is on the mountain tarn,
And silence in the vale;
I hear the herdman shut the barn
And hang the milking-pail.
And silence in the vale;
I hear the herdman shut the barn
And hang the milking-pail.
Unto our lowly cottage stars
The great stars shine above,
And over Wythop's western bars
God lights the lamp of love.
The great stars shine above,
And over Wythop's western bars
God lights the lamp of love.
Of one more week of care and moil
The dale is dispossest,
And all who till and all who toil
Turn gratefully to rest.
The dale is dispossest,
And all who till and all who toil
Turn gratefully to rest.
87
But there, in fields forlorn of peace,
Foe stands with foe at bay,
And loud with war that cannot cease
Grim rolls the earth to day.
Foe stands with foe at bay,
And loud with war that cannot cease
Grim rolls the earth to day.
SUNDAY MORNING
From out the vale the clouds are drawn
To join their angel throng,
Through dusky boughs to dewy lawn
The thrush begins his song.
To join their angel throng,
Through dusky boughs to dewy lawn
The thrush begins his song.
This is the day our shepherds hold
Their Sabbath; up the fells,
Across the lake, by farm and fold,
I hear the Crosthwaite bells.
Their Sabbath; up the fells,
Across the lake, by farm and fold,
I hear the Crosthwaite bells.
With dream of Heaven the mellow chime
Floats up and fills the air,
Hands worn with labour now have time
To clasp and close in prayer.
Floats up and fills the air,
Hands worn with labour now have time
To clasp and close in prayer.
There with worn hands that know no sleep,
Stern Cronje and his braves
In Sabbath hope are digging deep
The refuge of their graves.
Stern Cronje and his braves
In Sabbath hope are digging deep
The refuge of their graves.
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