Come, gentle pupils, let us kneel
Beneath this tree upon the sod,
And, mindful of our sin, appeal
Unto the good and gracious God.
Look out upon the fruitful wold,
And see the ripening grain upraise
Its bursting tops of green and gold
Unto the sky in silent praise.
The winds are hushed, the fields are still,
The brooks that babbled sink to rest:
A holy reverence seems to thrill
Creation’s vast, responsive breast.
It is the solemn noontide hour,
When grateful Nature everywhere
Acknowledges the heavenly power
In one still, universal prayer.
So let us kneel upon the sod,
And, with his works before our face,
Commend our souls anew to God,
And crave his sanctifying grace.
At another time, in evident imitation of Watts’s style,—though the
imitation is not particularly clever,—Steele framed an evening hymn, the
original manuscript of which is still preserved, we believe, among the
Hartopp collection in the British Museum:—