At night, when dreams are not yet come to life,
The wraiths fly off their misty, gloomy caves.
When you still drowse amidst shadow and light
They haunt your thoughts and make you doubt all faith.

A world of lies and hate is their domain
And evil they do reckon as a prize.
By fire, sword or bow they can't be slain,
They'd only, from their ashes, again rise.

They daunt all people, seeking to corrupt
Anyone brave or foolish that they face;
Conjuring phantasms by their wicked craft,
They kill all hope and always mar the grace.

Yet they chose wrong, when in their heathen craze
They thought they could assail you with their lust.
For you are their worst nightmare and they gaze
At you, and they now see that they are lost.

Oh, beauty of old, your name is their doom!
Oh, love of my soul I’ll forever praise,
They tried to touch you and now they're consumed
By your holiness, which leaves them amazed.