The Fount of Life, that never dies,
Is but a sprinkling of Thy grace;
The moon, that lightens all the skies,
A pale reflection of Thy face.
‘The night is dark and long’, I said;
‘Bright, bright the moonshine that I seek’;
That night, the tresses of Thy head,
That moon, the lustre of Thy check.
Is but a sprinkling of Thy grace;
The moon, that lightens all the skies,
A pale reflection of Thy face.
‘The night is dark and long’, I said;
‘Bright, bright the moonshine that I seek’;
That night, the tresses of Thy head,
That moon, the lustre of Thy check.
