Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/183

 There lay outstretched beside her Her son, and he was dead; On the pallid features sparkled The light of the morning red.

The mother folded her hands then, She felt so wistfully; Devoutly sang she softly: "Blessèd be thou, Marie!"

not what evil is coming, But my heart feels sad and cold; A song in my head keeps humming, A tale from the times of old.

The air is fresh and it darkles, And smoothly flows the Rhine; The peak of the mountain sparkles In the fading sunset-shine.

The loveliest wonderful Maiden On high is sitting there, With golden jewels braiden, And she combs her golden hair.