Silent falls the winsome maiden,
    Frightened by her own surmise,
  Little hands, so white and dimpled,
    Pressing on her sweet blue eyes.

  Louder now the fir-trees rustle,
    Spinning-wheel more harshly drones;
  In their pauses sounds the cithern,
    And the old song’s simple tones: 

  “Do not fear, my tender nursling,
    Aught of evil spirits’ might;
  For good angels still are watching
    Round thy pathway day and night.”

  Now the fir-tree’s dark-green fingers
    Tap upon the window low,
  And the moon, a yellow listener,
    Casts within her sweetest glow.

  Father, mother, both are sleeping,
    Near at hand their rest they take;
  But we two, in pleasant gossip,
    Keep each other long awake.

  “That thou prayest much too often,
    Seems unlikely, I declare;
  On thy lips there is a quiver
    Which was never born of prayer.

  “Ah! that heartless, cold expression
    All my being terrifies—­
  Though my darkling fear is lessened
    By thy frank and honest eyes.

  “Yet I doubt if thou believest
    What is held for truth by most;
  Hast thou faith in God the Father,
    In the Son and Holy Ghost?”

  “Ah, my darling! when an infant
    By my mother’s knee I stood,
  I believed in God the Father,
    In the Ruler great and good.

  “He who made the world so lovely,
    Gave man beauty, gave him force,
  And to sun and moon and planets
    Pre-appointed each its course.

  “As I older grew, my darling,
    And my way in wisdom won,
  I in reason comprehended,
    And believe now in the Son—­

  “In the well-loved Son, who, loving,
    Oped the gates of Love so wide;
  And for thanks—­as is the custom—­
  By the world was crucified.

  “Now, that I in full-grown manhood
    Reading, travel, wisdom boast;
  Still my heart expands, and, truly
    I believe the Holy Ghost,

  “Who bath worked the greatest wonders—­
    Greater still he’ll work again;
  He bath broken tyrants’ strongholds,
    Broken every vassal’s chain.

  “Ancient deadly wounds he healeth,
    He renews man’s ancient right;
  All to him, born free and equal,
    Are as nobles in his sight.

  “Clouds of evil flee before him,
    And those cobwebs of the brain
  Which forbade us love and pleasure,
    Scowling grimly on our pain.

  “And a thousand knights in armor
    Hath he chosen and required
  To fulfil his holy bidding—­
    All with noblest zeal inspired.

  “Lo!  I their precious swords are gleaming,
    And their banners wave in fight! 
  What!  Thou fain would’st see, my darling,
    Such a proud and noble knight?

  “Well, then, gaze on me, my dearest;
    I am of that lordly host,
  Kiss me! and you kiss a chosen
    Champion of the Holy Ghost!”