What pales this face with sickly hue,
draws a veil across the light
makes flowing limbs seem leaden like;
tis if a ghost of night absorbed
this effervescent life of all.
When heard the heaven’s angels sing
in sweet harmonies and true
or when a crowd, or only two
do gather, speak of You;
where now is that ghostly hue?
Now all is bright and ever new
and what Is, has always been,
knows again that I am free;
that ghost of night now seen to be
a shadow that I thought was me.
