When the children are asleep,
And the early stars retire,
What a pleasant world comes back
In the toil of day forgot;
And the shadows of the past
How they gather round the fire
With the friends beloved in years,
When the fear of death was not.
Then we see the haw thorn hedge
Newly silvered o’er by May,
And the ash tree lithe and tall,
Where the mavis loved to sing;
And the orchard on the slope,
With its rosy apples gay;
And the elder dark with fruit
That was mirrored in the spring,
When the children are asleep.
And the angels of our youth,
That so long in death are cold,
They are calling us again
With their voices mild and low,
Till our minds refuse to dwell
By the coffin in the mould,
And arise with them to heaven,
Where in glory they are now—
And arise with them to heaven.
Then with thoughts at rest at eve,
Be so ever hard the day,
On our spirits cometh down,
A contentment calm and deep,
A better than the joys
Of the noisy and the gay,
Is our quiet hour of dreams,
When the children are asleep.
Solo.—“CONTRA BASSO.”—Bottessini.
Song.—“THE STANDARD BEARER.”—Lindpainter.
HERR PISCHEK.
Where floats the standard o’er the tented plain,
His lonely watch the minstrel knight is keeping,
And thus beguiles the time with tuneful strain,
His silver lute with mailed finger sweeping,
The lady of my love I do not name,
I dare not hope my love can be requited;
Yet I will fight for liberty and fame,
Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted,
Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted.
The night is gone, the battle comes with day,—
Behold the bard, surrounding foes defying;
Red carnage marks his presence in the fray,
While still he sings, amid the dead and dying,
The lady of my love I may not name,
I dare not hope my love can be requited;
Then let me die for liberty and fame,
Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted,
Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted.
The fight is won; death sated quits the field,—
Yet still the faithful bard, while life is fleeting,
Expiring, lies upon his gory shield,
This dying note with feeble voice repeating,
The lady of my love I do not name,
In heaven above we yet may be united;
I fought and fell for liberty and fame,
Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted,
Beneath the banner where my vows were plighted.