Classic Poem

After the garish day
its dust and turbulence and aching glare,
fled to familiar night
I sat at the evening's quiet work
freshen'd in brain and nerve;
paused for a moment in the quiet labour
—the golden lamplight brooded on the floor
and all seem'd to listen to the churchbells ringing
solemn and glad, across the lake of memory,
a far-off strain of peace:

Peace!
no craving, no unrest …
seeing all, hearing all,
giving thanks ever,
not the world but dwelling in it
cloister'd, watchers of eternity
chant we the hours
untouch'd by the day or its glare!
but at monastic midnight
sing we for him that will hear us
faithful ever, or hymn of praise
content in the peace of our dream.