The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Wanderer's Night-Song
Thou that from the heavens art,
Every pain and sorrow stlllest,
And the doubly wretched heart
Doubly with refreshment fillest,
I am weary with contending!
Why this rapture and unrest?
Come, ah, come into my breast!
O'er all the hilltops
Is quiet now,
In all the tree-tops
Hardly a breath;
The birds are asleep in the trees:
Wait; soon like these
Thou, too, shalt rest.