This is a poor effort, big boy but it was written under great pressure – especially the last. The rhyme might be wrong, but the exact idea is here, C?

Anyway, take it as it is meant.

Peace

It is midnite – the lights are all turned out.

And the world is quiet and still,

Same for the crickets in the grass,

And the turning of the mill.

The grinding of the wooden wheels

Brings music to the ear,

And the world is wrapped in slumper.

And the night is calm and clear.

The soft low rustle of the leaves

As the wind is passing by,

Whispering soft “The glad time is here,

Be gay and do not sigh.”

The wind goes on – the leaves are still

And the stars are hanging low,

They seem to touch the mountain tops

And hang there in a row.

The crescent moon is dim and pale,

As it slowly sinks from sight.

As the starts keep watch o’er the heaven and Earth

Look down from their dizzy height.

I asked myself why when the hard day was done

The night was so still and so calm,

“That is always the way,” the nite seemed to say,

“It’s the strength of God’s encircling arm.”

I felt quite at rest, for he guards up in sleep.

And he governs the night calm and still.

I closed my tired eyes from the world’s hate and lies

And the moon sank beneath the low hill.

F.M.P.

July 1923