A TOWN lies in the valley, A pale day fades and dies; And it will not be long before Neither moon nor starlight, Night only fills the skies. From all the mountain ridges Creeps mist, and swathes the town; No farm, no house, no wet red roof Can pierce the thickly woven woof, And scarce even spires and bridges. But as the wanderer shudders, Deep down a streak of light rejoices His heart; and, through the smoke and haze, Children's voices Begin a gentle hymn of praise. |