Low in the lap of sleep their ancient dower,
The changeless spirit of our changeful clay
Sighs in the silence of the midnight hour.
Sigh, watcher for a dawn remote and grey,
Mourn, journeyer to an undesirèd deep,
Eternal sower, thou that shalt not reap,
Immortal, whom the plagues of God devour.
Mourn—’tis the hour when thou wert wont to pray.
Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour.