The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

The singer ceased. The moon's white rays
     Fell on the rapt, still face of her.
“Allah il Allah! He hath praise
     From all things,” said the Traveller.
“Oft from the desert's silent nights,
     And mountain hymns of sunset lights,
My heart has felt rebuke, as in his tent
     The Moslem's prayer has shamed my Christian knee unbent.”

He paused, and lo! far, faint, and slow
     The bells in Newbury's steeples tolled
The twelve dead hours; the lamp burned low;
     The singer sought her canvas fold.
One sadly said, “At break of day
     We strike our tent and go our way.”
But one made answer cheerily, “Never fear,
     We'll pitch this tent of ours in type another year.”