When the shades of evening gather,
And night's curtain's dropping low,
And the stars they dot the heavens
With their candles, all aglow;—
Then to me there come the voices
On each cool and fragrant breeze,
Stealing in from every quarter,
Creeping through among the trees.
And these voices, ever silent,
Scarcely heard, their steps so light;
Yet, to me are ever welcome;
Silent voices of the night.
When within the noisy city,
With its surging, busy crowd,
The voices keep a-calling,
And they seem to call so loud.
I can hear them pleading, coaxing,
And to me they call so plain,
And they have the self-same message,
"Yes, we want you back again."
Voices of my little camp-fire,
Voices of the woods and hills,
Voices from the snow-capped mountains,
Voices from the crystal-rills;
And I ever hear them calling,
'Till I feel like taking flight,
Back to where the voices whisper,—
Silent voices of the night.
Oh! those voices, how I love them!
Whether near or far away,
And they ask me not to leave them,
"Won't you please come back and stay?"
"Come and we will try to please you,"
Calling from their wildwood home,
"Yes, my loved ones, I am coming,
And from you no more will roam."
