There’s a far-away country, a wonderful land

That the twilight loves best, where the finger of God

Touched the land into shadows; unlighted they stand

As they stood at the first over-ocean and sod,

And the cloud and the mountain are one; all unheard

Is the murmur of traffic, the sigh of unrest,

And the King of the land is a golden-crowned bird

With a robe of plain brown and an ashy-gray vest.

Where the shadows are deepest a musical sound

Cleaves their darkness, the song of the golden-crowned King.

Never day is so dark but the sweet notes are heard,

Never forest so dense but the melodies ring.

Sing on, little King of the twilight land, sing,

Thy kingdom extend through the oncoming days,

Till the spaces between us with music shall ring,

And the world hush its breath but to listen and praise.

—Nelly Hart Woodworth.