In the remembering hours of night,
When the fierce-hearted winds complain,
The trouble comes into my sight,
And the voices come again,
And the voices come again.
I see the tall white lilies bloom,
(Mother of lilies, pity me!)
The voice of lilies in the room
(Mother of lilies, pity me!)
Crying, crying silently.
The voice of lilies is your voice,
White lily of the world's desire;
And yours, and yours the lily's choice,
To consume whitely, as by fire,
Flawless, flaming, fire in fire.
O lily of the world's despair,
And born to be the world's delight,
Is it enough to have been fair,
To have been pure, to have been white,
As a lily in God's sight?
When the dark hours begin to wake,
And the unslackening winds go by,
There comes a trouble, for your sake:
O is it you, O is it I,
Crying the eternal cry?
I see the phantom lilies wave,
I hear the voices calling me;
O you, that are too pure to save,
Immaculate eternally,
Mother of lilies, pity me!
