When snow falls against the window,

Long sounds the evening bell …

For so many has the table

Been prepared, the house set in order.

From their wandering, many

Come on dark paths to this gateway.

The tree of grace is flowering in gold

Out of the cool sap of the earth.

In stillness, wanderer, step in:

Grief has worn the threshold into stone.

But see: in pure light, glowing

There on the table: bread and wine.