III 
     
    
   
   
    
     Adown the golden sunset way 
     
    

    
     The evening comes in wimple gray; 
     
    

    
     By burnished shore and silver lake 
     
    

    
     Cool winds of ministration wake; 
     
    

    
     O’er occidental meadows far 
     
    

    
     There shines the light of moon and star, 
     
     And sweet, low-tinkling music rings 
     
     About the lips of haunted springs. 
     
    

    
     In quietude of earth and air 
     
    

    
     ’Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.