The sleeping tarn is dark
Below the wooded hill.
Save for its homing sounds,
The twilit world grows still.
And I am left to muse
In grave-eyed mystery,
And watch the stars come out
As sandalled dusk goes by.
And now the light is gone,
The drowsy murmurs cease,
And through the still unknown
I wonder whence comes peace.
Then softly falls the word
Of one beyond a name,
“Peace only comes to him
Who guards his life from shame,—
“Who gives his heart to love,
And holding truth for guide,
Girds him with fearless strength,
That freedom may abide.”