The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine.

Farewell, green fields and happy groves, Where flocks have ta’en delight; Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves The feet of angels bright; Unseen, they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest, Where birds are cover’d warm, They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm:— If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed.