Now the night is spreading its dark wings
Upon garden, field and forest;
There the moon appears along the hill,
And the last sound, too, dies away.
The flower nods at the edge of the wellspring,
The bird sleeps upon the swaying branch,
And in a safe place there rest
The people from the burden of the day.

Then an angel floats through the regions
And sings and plays a holy song;
A shudder trembles through the trees,
Wherever he passes with his blessing.
He blesses fruit and wheat and grapevines
And drops the dew upon blossom and leaf;
In floating past, he blesses
The sleepers upon their bed.

Into their breasts he pours peace,
Sinks pain into oblivion,
And those who are separated by time and space,
He lovingly draws heart to heart.--
And when the morning star again
Is extinguished in the gold-rimmed clouds,
Mankind raises his limbs from sleep
And ponders how beautifully he has dreamed.