BLUE-EYED saint from heaven low bending,
Grant, oh, grant a mortal's prayer,
From her broken heart ascending
Through the silent midnight air.
Thou, O mild and gentle spirit,
Felt how cold a world was this,
But, ere long, thou didst inherit
From thy God eternal bliss,
I alas! have felt its coldness,
Seen my hopes betrayed and dead,
When I first, in maiden boldness,
Life's most flow'ry path would tread.
Like a dove, when highest soaring,
Smitten by the cruel dart,
And in vain my fate deploring,
Wish the arrow in my heart.
Then, ah, gentle spirit, hear me
From among those flowerets sweet,
Whither oft, when thou wert near me,
Fancy led my willing feet.
In that cell, so drear and lowly ,
I can never pray to thee;
In this lovely garden only
Are my troubled spirits free.
He was in a garden praying,
E'en as now to thee I pray;
Ere the sinless Lord betraying,
Judas saw him led away.
Hear my prayer, then, gentle spirit,
Hear and grant it, if thou may;
Let me his soft rest inherit,
fade and softly die away.