When the snow falls at the window,
Long the Vesper bells are tolling,
Tables are for many set
And the house is fully stocked.

Some will in their travelling
Come to the gate on shady paths.
Golden blooms the tree of grace
From the earth’s cooling sap.

Traveller steps gently in;
Sorrow petrified the sill.
There, aglow in pure, clear light,
On the table, bread and wine.