This is thy hour, O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless.
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done.
Thee fully forth emerging silent, gazing,
pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
We are the stars which sing,
We sing with your light;
We are the birds of fire,
We fly across the heavens,
Our light is a star which sings.
We sing with your light;
We are the birds of fire,
We fly across the heavens,
Our light is a star which sings.