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Show ires PERIS. There is a silence in the qntet woods, There is a holy tilJnes in the west, WLen dT coaleoteJ, ere its urewll. floods The fields in tranquil tighl, and bids them rest. Thpre is e iUrnce in the weary town. When frt-.iuent footsteps lowon oee by one, And la't cod nishia hiiTe (inter, fewer grown. And all tho bmtio of the da; is done. Yet oot Ibe rllnes of the petting tan, Nor nil the twilight dirkening with iocrcase, Brings unto warr mortals, every one, Tbe tender cgmfort or a natural peace. The wild bird, tired of iu son;:, may rot. And hide iu head within its trusty wing ; The early ran shall wake it from its nest To-taorrow morn it will as bravely cing. Tho flowers may close their petals for tlio night, And stay their Ifuuty in the dewy gloom ; Upon the t'ory of the morning light. More uuh, more fragrant! j, the roso will bloom. Yet not with men is snch a dream of peace ; The fierce thought racks throughout the ileal night, And lodging, lingering carps, wlthont surcease, Waar on tho troubled soul into tbe light. |