THE sleeping tarn is dark
Below the wooded hill.
Save for its homing sounds,
The twilit world grows still.
And I am left to muse
In grave-eyed mystery,
And watch the stars come out
As sandalled dusk goes by.
And now the light is gone,
The drowsy murmurs cease,
And through the still unknown
I wonder whence comes peace.
Then softly falls the word
Of one beyond a name,
'Peace only comes to him
Who guards his life from shame, —
'Who gives his heart to love,
And holding truth for guide,
Girds him with fearless strength,
That freedom may abide.'
