Gray boats drawn up beside the silent sand,

Their mats drawn close, tired oarsmen fast asleep,

A weary world safe wrapped in slumber deep,

And calm, sweet night enfolding all the land.

Limp, loosened sails, by gentle breezes fanned,

Dim watchmen, wakeful, while they vigil keep,

The mighty river with its onward sweep,

Clear stars above, set there at God’s command.

The myriad sounds of Nature, never still,

Their music softly soothing us to rest,

The high-hung moon, a guardian spirit white,

Nearby a looming shape, a shadowy hill,

A fairy-tale pagoda on its crest,

Peace in our hearts, the quiet hush of night.