There was a cry from the sky,
A cry at night;
It wakened the breeze in the trees
When the moon was white;
And I, only I,
Adrift on life's terrible seas,
Read the cry aright.
Pennants of gold were unrolled,
They told of sun;
Night's pain with the dark and the rain,
Was over and done.
The travail of old
Had passed from the mother again,
And the fight was won.
There was a cry from the sky,
And my soul was torn
With a passion divine, as of wine,
From the breast of morn;
For I, only I,
Knew the cry as the signal and sign
That love was born.