And in the air their caps they throw;
A little more, and they would bend the knee,
As if the Holy Host came by in thee!
Faust.
Yet a few paces, till we reach yon stone,
And there our wearied strength we may repair.
Here oft I sat in moody thought alone,
And vexed my soul with fasting and with prayer.
Rich then in hope, in faith then strong,
With tears and sobs my hands I wrung,