John Hanmer - Evening in Germany lyrics

How each sharp hammer of the minster clock Cuts off a point of time, until the bell, Up-carolling to the clouds with silvery swell, The sullen presage like a bird doth mock; But the day fleets, and the shadow of the rock Falls opposite to where at morn it fell; The bees come home, each to her angular cell; Up to his hostel flies the roosting co*k. Now creep the beggars, some with misery pined, To dungeon-pits; some where the woodland yields Small shelter, thinned for comfortable fires: Some to lone huts such as the shepherd builds Under a bank to shield him from the wind, In an old tree set round with thorns and briars.