But only one took naught away, and know'st thou, sister, who?
He of whom I often spake of thee, when I most silent grew,
He, my little sister of the cross, it is I love so true.
Then quick run after him, he dwells beside the mill-pool deep,
And through his slumbers murmuring on, their watch the
waters keep,
O happy water, that may sing and lull him in his sleep.
Then quickly run thou after him, my sister, do not stay
To watch the flocks upon the hill, that browse the livelong
day;