(Lyrics: W. Blake, Music: E. Toriser)

 

The sun descending in the west,

The evening star does shine;

The birds are silent in their nest,

And I must seek for mine.

 

The moon like a flower,

In heaven´s high bower,

With silent delight

Sits and smiles on the night.

 

Farewell, green fields and happy groves,

Where flocks have took delight;

Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves

The feet of angels bright;

 

Unseen they pour blessing,

And joy without ceasing,

On each bud and blossom,

And each sleeping bosom.

 

They look in every thoughtless nest,

Where birds are cover´d warm;

They visit caves of every beast,

To keep them all from harm;

 

If they see any weeping

That should have been sleeping,

They pour sleep on their head

And sit down by their bed.

 

When wolves and tygers howl for prey,

They pitying stand and weep;

Seeking to drive their thirst away,

And keep them from the sheep.

 

But if they rush dreadful,

The angels, most heedful,

Receive each mild spirit,

New worlds to inherit.

 

And there the lion´s ruddy eyes

shall flow with tears of gold,

And pitying the tender cries,

And walking round the fold,

 

Saying "Wrath, by his meekness,

And, by his health, sickness

Is driven away

From our immortal day."

 

"And now beside thee, bleating lamb,

I can lie down and sleep;

Or think on him who bore thy name,

Graze after thee and weep.

 

For, wash´d in life´s river,

My bright mane for ever

Shall shine like gold

As I guard o´er the fold."