O JOY of creation,         To be! O rapture, to fly         And be free! Be the battle lost or won, Though its smoke shall hide the sun, I shall find my love—the one         Born for me!

I shall know him where he stands         All alone, With the power in his hands         Not o'erthrown; I shall know him by his face, By his godlike front and grace; I shall hold him for a space         All my own!

It is he—O my love!         So bold! It is I—all thy love         Foretold! It is I—O love, what bliss! Dost thou answer to my kiss? O sweetheart! what is this         Lieth there so cold?