It is cold at winter’s gate, and colder still: the heart of fate.
She loves me not through day, and dawn, and scoff’s in spite as I live on.
The winds of winter rip my bones, my soul cries out: ‘I’m all alone!’
And where is this, my sister fate? I say from her to me is only hate.
And when the pit of darkness holds, and I cry out for bitter cold,
Where is my friend, beloved One – the sweet, only begotten Son?
Have you forgotten that I’ve been born? How long to lie by beasts all torn?
For thee my heart is given though – may love alone to my King flow.
Yet, help me please – I must admit, my passion fails within this pit.
Can life, and love from dead man flow? Can fire burn with fuel of snow?
Wash me now, your sacrifice – for You I die – You’ve paid my price.
And so I ask in suffering: let this death in faith to ring.
As Abel cried from mouth of earth – his bloody soul sang mortal dearth.
Yet let the ground not drink my blood; I’m overwhelmed within this flood!
Terror’s gripped me in the night, and sorrows tear – I won’t give flight!
I have rebuked the fear of man, and tremors ceased – I’ll take not Pan.
A parable I heard man say; its price, I wonder: ‘Must I pay?’
“The mouse forgot to eat its crumbs – its lost all hope, how can it run?”
And in my passion – growing weak; but let me never stop to seek
The Man of sorrows, despised by all – His cross of pain grown big and tall.
Open the door.