by Matthias Claudius (1740-1805)
translated from the German
The lofting moon is low,
Golden stars aglow
Shine so bright and clear;
The wood is black and still,
From meadows’ miracle
White rising mists appear.
In shadows’ peaceful shade –
The mantle dusk has made –
Earth is softly draped;
As in a safe bedchamber
Away from grief and danger
With eyes closed we escape.
The young moon in ascent
May seem to be a crescent
And yet she’s round and sleek;
And so the wonderful
We think most laughable
Because our human sight is weak.
Arrogant poor fools
Who think their thoughts are jewels
Have everything to learn;
Crafty, we can spin
Illusion out of wind,
And honest true fulfillment spurn.
Grant us, God, salvation,
Save us from delusion
Let us not be vain;
Save us from our pride,
Falsehood be denied,
Let us Your happy lambs remain.
When time of death’s at hand
May all before You stand
Untroubled and at peace;
And when you call us from
This life to Kingdom come,
Dear Lord, may all our sorrows cease.
Now lay us down, my brothers
In God’s name and no other,
The evening wind is chill;
Lord, reckoning relent,
Bless slumber with content,
And also every neighbor who is ill.