| |
| COME to the sunset tree! | |
| The day is past and gone; | |
| The woodmans axe lies free, | |
| And the reapers work is done. | |
| |
| The twilight star to heaven, | 5 |
| And the summer dew to flowers, | |
| And rest to us is given | |
| By the cool soft evening hours. | |
| |
| Sweet is the hour of rest! | |
| Pleasant the winds low sigh, | 10 |
| And the gleaming of the west, | |
| And the turf whereon we lie. | |
| |
| When the burden and the heat | |
| Of labors task are oer, | |
| And kindly voices greet | 15 |
| The tired one at his door, | |
| |
| Come to the sunset tree! | |
| The day is past and gone; | |
| The woodmans axe lies free, | |
| And the reapers work is done. | 20 |
| |
| Yes; tuneful is the sound | |
| That dwells in whispering boughs, | |
| Welcome the freshness round, | |
| And the gale that fans our brows. | |
| |
| But rest more sweet and still | 25 |
| Than ever nightfall gave, | |
| Our longing hearts shall fill | |
| In the world beyond the grave. | |
| |
| There shall no tempest blow, | |
| No scorching noontide heat; | 30 |
| There shall be no more snow, | |
| No weary wandering feet. | |
| |
| And we lift our trusting eyes, | |
| From the hills our fathers trod, | |
| To the quiet of the skies, | 35 |
| To the Sabbath of our God. | |
| |
| Come to the sunset tree! | |
| The day is past and gone; | |
| The woodmans axe lies free, | |
| And the reapers work is done! | 40 |
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