The winds are hush'd, the peaceful moon
Looks down on Zion's hill,
The city sleeps, 'tis night's calm soon,
And all the streets are still.

How soft, how holy is the light
And, hark! a tuenful song,
As gentle as the dews of night
Floats on the air along.

Surrounded by his faithful few,
Our dear redeemer see;
May we not raise the song anew
In praise, dear Lord, to thee?