Midnight dreams,
while the land drowses
through the spacious time;
so in our hearts the light.
Thanking God for life
and for a friend or wife,
to count the pain of strife
for humble men of sight,
trampling down the days
like silver plumes that wave,
their lances raised to Christ
and hear the steeples sing.
The moon along the sky
like sickles half in sleep,
the golden lilies weep
across the flowery land,
veiled the lamp of beams
hidden down silent streams;
Heaven waits another day
baptizing those that stray.
