Hope, the May-Queen, danceth out,
Her lips with music running o'er!
But Time those strings of Joy will sever.
And Hope will not dance on for ever;
Then pray, Child, pray!
Now thy Mother's Hymn abideth
Round they pillow in the night,
And gentle feet creep to thy bed,
And o'er thy quiet face is shed
The taper's darken'd light.