SETTING SUN, FROM LANSDOWNE, CHELTENHAM.
THE setting sun with golden beam,
O'er distant hills and vale is shed;
Bright emblem of the fading day,
Dying in splendour o'er our head.
O'er distant hills and vale is shed;
Bright emblem of the fading day,
Dying in splendour o'er our head.
The moon now rising pale and wan,
Athwart the noble Cotswold Hills;
Hangs like a silver crescent fair,
Poised on the brow of heaven's stile!
Athwart the noble Cotswold Hills;
Hangs like a silver crescent fair,
Poised on the brow of heaven's stile!
Who can walk on this gentle eve
Heedless alike of heaven and earth;
And ne'er believe some Mighty Hand
To all creation did give birth?
Heedless alike of heaven and earth;
And ne'er believe some Mighty Hand
To all creation did give birth?
