The Book of the Native

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

Where the Cattle come to Drink


 

At evening, where the cattle come to drink,
    Cool are the long marsh-grasses, dewy cool
    The alder thickets, and the shallow pool,
And the brown clay about the trodden brink.
The pensive afterthoughts of sundown sink
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    Over the patient acres given to peace;
    The homely cries and farmstead noises cease,
And the worn day relaxes, link by link.

A lesson that the open heart may read
    Breathes in this mild benignity of air,

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    These dear, familiar savours of the soil,—
A lesson of the calm of humble creed,
    The simple dignity of common toil,
    And the plain wisdom of unspoken prayer.