Songs, Merry and Sad

Sundown

     Hills, wrapped in gray, standing along the west;
      Clouds, dimly lighted, gathering slowly;
     The star of peace at watch above the crest—
      Oh, holy, holy, holy!

     We know, O Lord, so little what is best;
      Wingless, we move so lowly;
     But in thy calm all-knowledge let us rest—
      Oh, holy, holy, holy!