His are the quiet steeps of dreamland, The waters of no-more-pain; His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars, 'Rest, rest, and rest again.'

Softly along the road of evening, In a twilight dim with rose, Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew Old Nod, the shepherd, goes.

We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie.

Some one came knocking At my wee, small door; Some one came knocking, I'm sure-sure-sure.