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.