O joy of creation,	 
        To be!	 
O rapture, to fly	 
        And be free!	 
Be the battle lost or won,	         
Though its smoke shall hide the sun,	 
I shall find my love—the one	 
        Born for me!	 
 
I shall know him where he stands	 
        All alone,	  
With the power in his hands	 
        Not o'erthrown;	 
I shall know him by his face,	 
By his godlike front and grace;	 
I shall hold him for a space	  
        All my own!	 
 
It is he—O my love!	 
        So bold!	 
It is I—all thy love	 
        Foretold!	  
It is I—O love, what bliss!	 
Dost thou answer to my kiss?	 
O sweetheart! what is this	 
        Lieth there so cold?