He, in his time of terror meets me
Baptized into darkness greets me
Where I had sealed my tomb.
I, hear the cry of separation
His descent to condemnation
Which was before my own.
We,
We sing together in the Evening
Sorrow's joys, and Rest in grieving
Until the morning comes.
The world was to me a wife wandering from her husband, only as much as I had forgotten him. Every golden vein flowed black when it was my name I thought she called. Her purest fountain turned to wormwood as I counted it mine, and threatened the end of my thirst.
Beauty remains while we are his. Only if I pluck the flower do I dread its fading.
Instead let me sing in his fields, and drink from his vines, praising his radiance in the creatures he calls forth, and resting in his constancy as they lie down.
