The morning-tide is fair and bright,
With golden sun up-springing;
The cedars glowed in the new-born light,
And the bell-bird's note was ringing;
While diamonds dropped by dusky Night,
Were yet to the gidyas clinging.

The morning waned - the sun rose high
O'erhead, until 'twas seeming
But a dazzling disc, and the fiery sky
Like an opal sea was gleaming;
And languorous flowers - of morn gone by,
And coming eve - fell dreaming.

And now the moon above does creep
To laugh at red Sol sinking;
While wakening from their sunlit sleep,
A few wan stars are blinking,
And thirsty, drooping flowers deep
Of evening dews are drinking.

The birds will soon their carols cease,
And crows are homeward hieing;
The gloaming deepens, stars increase,
The weary day is dying -
Its requiem, murmurous of peace,
The vesper winds are, sighing.

This night is near! Are you waiting friend,
That Night? - we're drawing nigh it -
When we to the Restful Land shall wend,
And leave life's feverish riot -
When the gods to each tired soul shall send
Eternal, dreamless quiet.