The Autumn day is drawing to a close.
The vale sinks softly, gently to repose,
Like a tired babe. The wind has fall’n asleep:
That wind which helped me all the day to reap
The golden corn.  I hear no song of bird;
The trees stand silent – not a leaf is stirred.
So deep the calm, I feel constrained to curb
My wayward steps, lest they the calm disturb.
Angels are lighting heaven’s lamps on high,
Still smiles the West at the sun’s last good-bye.
Night! And the moon o’er the dim hill appears;
Dimming with her pale rays remoter spheres.
Upward she moves, majestic and serene;
Queen of the night – indeed a glorious queen.
Now standing ‘mid the stooks of garnered corn,
Where reaping, I have passed the hours since morn.
Earth’s petty things recede; my soul takes flight;
And, soaring through the realms of the Night,
Sees in this picture spreading far and broad,
A part of the magnificence of God.
My heart, much moved by the sublime repose,
Tastes of the Peace which only God bestows;
Tastes of the joy which is in true accord
With what the Blessed feel before the Lord.

Michael Mullin
‘The Bard of Foremass’

Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.