Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: Wanderer's Night Song

1
Thou that from the heavens art,
Every pain and sorrow stillest,
And the doubly wretched heart
Doubly with refreshment fillest,

I am weary with contending!
Why this rupture and unrest?
Peace descending,
Come, ah come into my breast!

2
O'ver all the hilltops
Is quiet now,
In all the tree-tops
Hearest thou

Hardly a breath;
The birds are asleep in the trees:
Wait; soon like these
Thou too shalt rest.