Poems (Hazlett-Bevis)/The Angelus
The Angelus.
Soft and low, soft and low, Hear the bells, the evening bells; How they murmur, come and go, As through the vale their echo swells.
Gently falls the twilight hour, See the sun has sunk to rest; Every bird and bee and flower Softly seeks its dewey nest.
Still two toilers labor on In the fields of golden grain, Wisting not that day was gone, Gleaning when the wheat hath lain.
Implements of labor, rare, As they bend to meet their task: Gently on the twilight air Whispers of the evening bask.
Hark, once more the silver bells Toll so sweetly o'er the lea, While the gleaner meekly tells O'er his beads, the Ave Marie.