Watchman! What of the Night?

THE BURDEN of Dumah. Silence. What of the night?

I hear the Watchman crying through the dark.

When to the golden cover of Thine Ark

Thy Mercy seat, wilt Thou, O God of Light

Return? How long wilt Thou Thy remnant smite,

And thresh the scattered corn upon Thy floor,

And winnow with Thy purging fan, before

That last least grain be garnered! Will Thy might

Destroy, nor spare? Lo, as a tale that is told,

Our days pass quickly, nor as yet the thorn

Yields to the fir. No more from us withhold

The Prince of Peace, that unto us is born:

Our bones, O Lord, are vexed, our eyes wax old

With longing for that Messianic morn.