With his face to the way of the west!

 How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength! How slowly he crept as the morning wore by! Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky. Oh, the long toil, the slow toil, The toil that may not rest, Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown, To the wonderful way of the west!

How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength!

How slowly he crept as the morning wore by!

Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length

To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky.

Oh, the long toil, the slow toil,

The toil that may not rest,

Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown,

To the wonderful way of the west!

 Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill, The wings of the wind in the forest are furled, The river runs softly, the birds are all still, The workers are resting all over the world. Oh, the good hour, the kind hour, The hour that calms the breast! Little inn half-way on the road of the day, Where it follows the turn to the west!

Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill,

The wings of the wind in the forest are furled,

The river runs softly, the birds are all still,

The workers are resting all over the world.

Oh, the good hour, the kind hour,

The hour that calms the breast!

Little inn half-way on the road of the day,

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