BY JAMES THOMSON

Waking one morning
In a pleasant land,
By a river flowing
Over golden sand:--

Whence flow ye, waters,
O'er your golden sand?
We come flowing
From the Silent Land.

Whither go ye, waters,
O'er your golden sand?
We go flowing
To the Silent Land.

And what is this fair realm?
A grain of golden sand
In the great darkness
Of the Silent Land.