SPEAK to us out of midnight's heart,
Thou who forever sleepless art!
The thoughts of Night are still and deep;
She cloth Thy holiest secrets keep.

The voices of the Day perplex;
Her crossing lights mislead and vex:
We trust ourselves to find Thy way,
Or, proudly free, prefer to stray.

The Night brings dewfall, still and sweet;
Soft shadows fold us to Thy feet;
Thy whisper in the dark we hear:
'Soul, cling to Me! none else is near.'

Speak to us by white Winter's breath,
Thou Life behind the mask of death,
That makest the snowfall eloquent
As summer's stir in earth's green tent!

Close unto Winter's quiet breast,
Summer, a sleeping babe, is pressed:
Till waking-time she safe will hold
His Bloom and freshness manifold.

O Night and Winter! cold and gloom!
O marble mystery of the tomb!
God's hieroglyphs to man are ye;
Sealed visions of what yet shall be.

Better is blessedness concealed
From sight, than joy to sense revealed.
Thanks for this happy mortal breath!
Praise for the life wrapped up in death!