A quiet morn, a peaceful day,
Cool gentle shade where people pray, 
In little church on little hill
Good people come to do God's will on Sunday.

A quiet noon to walk or rest, 
Young folk and old in Sunday best, 
A little talk down by the stream,
A little thought, a little dream on Sunday.

A quiet e'en, the distant chimes 
That softly peal their silv'ry rhymes, 
Flowers are folded, stars are bright,
And little prayers breathe soft 'good-night' to Sunday.