  Peace be with the little red-roofed church out yonder, With its quiet English village gathered round; With shade of great beech-trees on the grave-mounds under, And leaves of the Autumn over all the ground! There go the rooks at even homeward flying! The sweet sense of home lies over all that land; The glow is on the tower of the daylight dying, And lovers in the shadow are walking hand-in-hand. Here comes no voice from the middle world to move them, All the year round no memorable thing; Yet the great skies arch as beautiful above them, All the year through there are birds with them that sing. Ah! well with you who calm and little knowing, Here in submission to your uneventful days, Leave the mad world to its coming and its going, Safe with God’s shadow on your evening ways! |
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