Starry night shall tidings bring, The
Go out upon the breezy moor,
Watch for a bird with sable wing,
And beak and talons dropping gore.

Look not around, look not beneath,
But mutely trace its airy way;
Mark where it lights upon the heath,
Then wanderer kneel thee down and pray.

What fortune may await thee there
I will not and I dare not tell,
But Heaven is moved by fervent prayer
And God is mercy—fare thee well!