When the night fades into twilight morn,
And the lark’s song rises forlorn,
Thoughts lay heavy where sleep should dwell,
Enchanted by sorrow’s bitter spell.
The bright day turns to shadowy evening,
Then to dark nightly monsters seething,
All things fading from light to dark,
As death claims all cold and stark.
Short the joy of gain, and long the grief of loss,
As all happy memories to storms we toss,
And we suffer under death’s fierce hold,
As we fear to meet the end of numbers untold.
We say Christ is Life and salvation!,
But think: why not grant it to creation?
Why must death still claim away all life,
In this seemingly ne’er ending strife?
Oh Lord why must death still rule,
the devil be a worldly king cruel,
and sin be the master of these living slaves,
trapped in dark and shadowy caves?