(Music by Greg Brown / poem of William Blake)

The sun descending in the West
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest
And I must seek for mine
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night

Farewell, green fields and happy groves
Where flocks have took delight
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen, they pour blessing
And joy without ceasing
On each bud and blossom
And each sleeping bosom

They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves of every beast
To keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping
They pour sleep on their head
And sit down by their bed
When wolves and tigers howl for prey
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away
And keep them from the sheep
But, if they rush dreadful
The angels, most heedful
Receive each mild spirit
New worlds to inherit

And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries
And walking round the fold:
Saying: 'Wrath by His meekness
And, by His health, sickness
Is driven away
From our immortal day

'And now beside thee, bleating lamb
I can lie down and sleep
Or think on Him who bore thy name
Graze after thee, and weep
For, washed in life's river
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold
As I guard o'er the fold