Now o’er the earth
God’s countenance is sinking,
the beating of his
great heart’s calm and quiet,
and see, his
forehead’s vault where you’re reclining
is cool as is a
northern night in springtime.
His hand shields
everything that’s in his keeping,
the good earth he
created in his gladness.
He weeps at souls that
lie there cold and waking
and kisses beasts
and children that lie sleeping.
Oh, listen, a cool
northern night in springtime.
God’s mild voice
is the wind’s caressing murmur,
eternity is laid
in flowers’ soft breathing –
now o’er the earth
God’s countenance is sinking.
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