Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/46

 High priest, what of the night?— The night is horrible here With haggard faces and fear, Blood, and the burning of fire. Mine eyes are emptied of sight, Mine hands are full of the dust. If the God of my faith be a liar, Who is it that I shall trust?

Princes, what of the night?— Night with pestilent breath Feeds us, children of death, Clothes us close with her gloom. Rapine and famine and fright Crouch at our feet and are fed. Earth where we pass is a tomb, Life where we triumph is dead.

Martyrs, what of the night?— Nay, is it night with you yet? We, for our part, we forget What night was, if it were.