  I Come to me, shadows, down the hill, Lie softly at my feet. The sun has worked his will And the day is done. Come to me softly and distil Your dews and dreams, that heat And hours of heartless glare have overrun. II Come to me, shadows, down the hill And bring with you the night, Fire-flies and the whippoorwill And ah, the moon— The tangled tongues of right And wrong, and hope and fear, that haunt the noon. III Come to me, shadows, down the hill— And let there follow Sleep, Which is God's tidal Will That overflows The world—obliterating ill, And in its soothing sweep Murmuring more of mercy than man knows. |
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