Evening Song

Evening now is closing
Over vale and hill ;
Peacefully reposing,
All the world is still.

But the brooklet, pouring
Where the tall rocks close,
With its restless roaring
Ever, ever flows.

Evening is not bringing
To its waters peace,
And no sweet bell ringing,
Bids its turmoil cease.

In its restless striving
I behold my own, —
True repose deriving
From my God alone.