Softly I come into the dance of the spheres,
Into the choir of lights,
New from my nest in God's heart.
O Night, the chosen of nights,
Longing and dream of the years,
Blessèd thou art.

Golden the fruit hangs on the hyaline tree;
Golden the glistening tide
Sweeps through the heavens; the cars
Of the great mooned planets glide
Golden; and yet to me
Bow down the stars;

Casting their crowns, bright with aeonian reigns,
Under the flight of my feet
Eager for Bethlehem,
Thither with music-beat
Blent of innumerous strains
Marshalling them.

Sweetly their chant soars through unsearchable space,
Quivering vespers that thrill
Into the deep nocturne,
Symphony I fulfill,
I who like Mary's face
Wonder and yearn,

Cherish, adore, keeping the watch above
The Word made flesh to-night,
Wonderful Word impearled
In childhood holy-white,
Word that is Godhood, Love,
Light of the World.