Wilt Thou

WILT THOU

Wilt Thou not, at the fall of dusk,
be like a mother, looking at her sons in bed?
Her shadow falls along the faces of her lads,
who ‘ve just slept in, spiteful and gruff.

Gently she’s shielded the unrestful hands,
consoled the loneliness they bear,
tenderly stroked her big sons’ hair.
And in her dreams she sees them back in foreign lands.

She doen’s know what, deep inside of them, is burning,
but when their cheek receives her breathing kissing,
their brow relaxes and their sleep is lighter.

Nearest Thou me, now that the night draws near?
And is my sleep so light because of Thee?
Thou Who art always near to me, drawest Thou nigher?