The Night Cometh

When darkness fills the western sky,
And sleep, the twin of death, is nigh,
What soothes the soul at set of sun ?
The pleasant thought of duty done.

Yet must the pastoral slumbers be
The shepherd's by the eastern tree,
Broken and brief — with dreams that tell
Of ravaged flock and poisoned well !

Be still, my soul ! fast wears the night —
Soon shall day dawn in holier light :
Old faces — ancient hearts— be there,
And well known voices thrill the air !