Sister Jerome is very tired and she must sleep;
There is no other guard to keep,
And so the night must be watched through with pain—
Ah me, my sentinel again.

The pain is like a little flame within the night,
A bright white sword, from it no flight …
Slow hours, unrolling dully, endlessly,
O say, when will to-morrow be?

In an eternity of dark and stillness strange,
Around and 'round with pain I range,
Remembering nothing fair. … There is no way,
There is no path unto the day.