What calls out to the evening nights?
What sweet lullabies entice?

When all have gone, and all have lied
Upon the earth, cold tonight,
At misty midnight, without sound
A priest will rise from the cold dead ground.
He prays safety for us, for all around,
To the moon to which our blood is bound.
Away from us, our souls are sought.
But sleep sweet child, worry not.
It is he who keeps the daemon’s plot
in our Lord’s hands, forever caught.
But what we hear is not by light.
Question, lest we die by right.

But what calls out to us this night?
What sweet voice now does death invite?