Song: The stream moaneth as it floweth

The stream moaneth as it floweth,
The wind sigheth as it bloweth,
Leaves are falling, Autumn goeth,
Winter cometh back again;
And the air is very chilly,
And the country rough and hilly,
And I shiver in the rain.
Who will help me? who will love me?
Heaven sets forth no light above me:
Ancient memories reprove me,
Long-forgotten feelings move me,
I am full of heaviness.
Earth is cold, too cold the sea:
Whither shall I turn and flee?
Is there any hope for me?
Any ease for my heart-aching,
Any sleep that hath no waking,
Any night without day-breaking,
Any rest from weariness?
Hark the wind is answering:
Hark the running stream replieth:
There is a rest for him that dieth:
In the grave whoever lieth
Nevermore hath sorrowing.
Holy slumber, holy quiet,
Close the eyes and still the riot:
And the brain forgets its thought,
And the heart forgets its beating.
Earth and earthly things are fleeting;
There is what all men have sought—
Long unchangeable repose,
Lulling us from many woes.