THE PASTURE BARS

The hunted stag, now nearly spent,

Turns homeward to his lair:

The wounded Bedouin seeks his tent

And finds safe shelter there.

So life returns upon its track:

We toil, we fight, we roam,

Till the long shadows point us back,

And evening brings us home.

To-night beside the pasture bars

I heard the whippoorwill,

While, one by one, the early stars

Came out above the hill.

I heard the tinkle of the spring,

I heard the cattle pass

Slow through the dusk, and lingering

To crop the wayside grass.

O weary world of fret and strife,

O noisy years and vain,

What have you paid me for my life

Since last, along this lane,

A barefoot boy, I drove the cows

In summer twilights still,

And paused beneath the orchard boughs

To list the whippoorwill?

Come, peace of God, that passeth all

Our understanding's sight:

Fall on me with the dews that fall,

And with the falling night.

Among these native hills and plains,

By these baptismal streams,

Wash off the city's fever stains,

Bring back my boyhood's dreams.

Beside the doors where life began

Here let it find its close;

And be its brief, remaining span

All given to repose.