Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/214

 In the blind eyes let there be sight; In the eighteen centuries of the night Let there be light.

Bow down the beauty of thine head, Sweet, and with lips of living breath Kiss thy sons sleeping and thy dead, That there be no more sleep or death. Give us thy light, thy might, thy love, Whom thy face seen afar above Drew to thy feet; and when, being free, Thou hast blest thy children born to thee, Bless also me.

Me that when others played or slept Sat still under thy cross and wept; Me who so early and unaware Felt fall on bent bared brows and hair (Thin drops of the overflowing flood!) The bitter blessing of thy blood; The sacred shadow of thy pain, Thine, the true maiden-mother, slain And raised again.

Me consecrated, if I might, To praise thee, or to love at least,