The moon is rising o’er the hill,
    Her slanting rays are creeping
Where Nature lies profoundly still
    In happy quiet sleeping,
And resting on her face, they’ll find
    The earth is wet with weeping.

She mourneth for the lovely day,
    Now deep in darkness shaded;
She sheds the dewy tear because
    Of morning’s mantle faded;
She misses from her breast the garb
    In which the moon array’d it.

The evening queen will strive in vain
    To break the spell which bound her;
A million stars can never throw
    Departed warmth around her;
They all must pass away and leave
    The earth as they had found her.

But why should gentle Nature weep
    That night has overtaken
The wearied world that needed sleep,
    Refreshed to re-awaken,
So richer light might burst around,
    The gloomy shadows breaking?

Oh, can she not from yonder sky
    That gleams above her, borrow
A single ray, or find a way
    To check the tear of sorrow?
A beam of hope would last her till
    The dawning of to-morrow.