Peace

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.”