This is the Sabbath day, the day of rest,
That breathes so gently in this quiet place,
With such insistent peace that for a space
The silver olives on the mountain's crest
Forget to whisper, folded in the grace
Of lengthening shadows gathered from the noon.
The clouds are golden, yet a placid moon
Slips out among them, calm and pale of face.

O soul of mine, breathe in this holy thing
That steeps the hills down to the dreaming sea ;
This endless prayer, this silent ecstacy,
That like a great white bird on sunlit wing
Hovers above the world ; 'tis given thee
To merge thyself in this harmonious whole.
And be content, seeking no higher goal ;
The earth is God's, to-day eternity !

More verses by Radclyffe Hall

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