THE TRAVELLER.

Before the night-blue fades And the stars are quite gone, I lift my head At the noiseless tread Of the angel of dawn.

I hear no word, yet my heart Is beating apace; Then in glory all still On the eastern hill I behold his face.

All day through the world he goes, Making glad, setting free; Then his day's work done, On the galleon sun He sinks in the sea.