We were alone—my wife and I—

God from above looked down on us,

Never a word did either speak,

Dry lay the salt from the tears on her cheek,

Joy was afar from us.

Silence held sway, the sin was mine,

Pride was my sin—alas! for me,

Pride that strangled the man within,

That silenced the truth and increased my sin,

She had done naught to me.

Someone’s speaking. Who dares intrude?

Reckless being, away from here.

“Reckless”—that little form in white?

Clinging to her, crying “Mother, good night!”

Low hung my head in shame.

“Mother,” I cried, “can you forgive?”

With faltering step I went to her,

And never a word did mother speak,

But the salt grew wet on her glowing cheek,

And joy came back to us.