Mankind appeared G.o.d's enemy; And if we thought the heavens had spoken, They spoke but death and misery.

The heart, of life the fountain swelling-- An evil creature lay therein; If more light shone into our dwelling, More unrest only did we win.

Down to the earth an iron fetter Fast held us, trembling captive crew; Fear of Law's sword, grim Death the whetter, Did swallow up hope's residue.

Then came a saviour to deliver-- A Son of Man, in love and might!

A holy fire, of life all-giver, He in our hearts has fanned alight.

Then first heaven opened--and, no fable, Our own old fatherland we trod!

To hope and trust we straight were able, And knew ourselves akin to G.o.d.

Then vanished Sin's old spectre dismal; Our every step grew glad and brave.

Best natal gift, in rite baptismal, Their own faith men their children gave.

Holy in him, Life since hath floated, A happy dream, through every heart; We, to his love and joy devoted, Scarce know the moment we depart.

Still standeth, in his wondrous glory, The holy loved one with his own; His crown of thorns, his faithful story Still move our hearts, still make us groan.

Whoso from deadly sleep will waken, And grasp his hand of sacrifice, Into his heart with us is taken, To ripen a fruit of Paradise.

II.

Dawn, far eastward, on the mountain!

Gray old times are growing young: From the flashing colour-fountain I will quaff it deep and long!-- Granted boon to Longing's long privation!

Sweet love in divine transfiguration!

Comes at last, our old Earth's native, All-Heaven's one child, simple, kind!

Blows again, in song creative, Round the earth a living wind; Blows to clear new flames that rush together Sparks extinguished long by earthly weather.

Everywhere, from graves upspringing, Rises new-born life, new blood!

Endless peace up to us bringing, Dives he underneath life's flood; Stands in midst, with full hands, eyes caressing-- Hardly waits the prayer to grant the blessing.

Let his mild looks of invading Deep into thy spirit go; By his blessedness unfading Thou thy heart possessed shalt know.

Hearts of all men, spirits all, and senses Mingle, and a new glad dance commences.

Grasp his hands with boldness yearning; Stamp his face thy heart upon; Turning toward him, ever turning, Thou, the flower, must face thy sun.

Who to him his heart's last fold unfoldeth, True as wife's his heart for ever holdeth.

Ours is now that G.o.dhead's splendour At whose name we used to quake!

South and north, its breathings tender Heavenly germs at once awake!

Let us then in G.o.d's full garden labour, And to every bud and bloom be neighbour!

III.

Who in his chamber sitteth lonely, And weepeth heavy, bitter tears; To whom in doleful colours, only Of want and woe, the world appears;

Who of the Past, gulf-like receding, Would search with questing eyes the core, Down into which a sweet woe, pleading, Wiles him from all sides evermore--

As if a treasure past believing Lay there below, for him high-piled, After whose lock, with bosom heaving, He breathless grasps in longing wild:

He sees the Future, waste and arid, In hideous length before him stretch; About he roams, alone and harried, And seeks himself, poor restless wretch!--

I fall upon his bosom, tearful: I once, like thee, with woe was wan; But I grew well, am strong and cheerful, And know the eternal rest of man.

Thou too must find the one consoler Who inly loved, endured, and died-- Even for them that wrought his dolour With thousand-fold rejoicing died.

He died--and yet, fresh each to-morrow, His love and him thy heart doth hold; Thou mayst, consoled for every sorrow, Him in thy arms with ardour fold.

New blood shall from his heart be driven Through thy dead bones like living wine; And once thy heart to him is given, Then is his heart for ever thine.

What thou didst lose, he keeps it for thee; With him thy lost love thou shalt find; And what his hand doth once restore thee, That hand to thee will changeless bind.

IV.

Of the thousand hours me meeting, And with gladsome promise greeting, One alone hath kept its faith-- One wherein--ah, sorely grieved!-- In my heart I first perceived Who for us did die the death.

All to dust my world was beaten; As a worm had through them eaten Withered in me bud and flower; All my life had sought or cherished In the grave had sunk and perished; Pain sat in my ruined bower.

While I thus, in silence sighing, Ever wept, on Death still crying, Still to sad delusions tied, All at once the night was cloven, From my grave the stone was hoven, And my inner doors thrown wide.

Whom I saw, and who the other, Ask me not, or friend or brother!-- Sight seen once, and evermore!

Lone in all life's eves and morrows, This hour only, like my sorrows, Ever shines my eyes before.

V.

If I him but have,[1]

If he be but mine, If my heart, hence to the grave, Ne'er forgets his love divine-- Know I nought of sadness, Feel I nought but worship, love, and gladness.

[Footnote 1: Here I found the double or feminine rhyme impossible without the loss of the far more precious simplicity of the original, which could be retained only by a literal translation.]

If I him but have, Pleased from all I part; Follow, on my pilgrim staff, None but him, with honest heart; Leave the rest, nought saying, On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.

If I him but have, Glad to sleep I sink; From his heart the flood he gave Shall to mine be food and drink; And, with sweet compelling, Mine shall soften, deep throughout it welling.

If I him but have, Mine the world I hail; Happy, like a cherub grave Holding back the Virgin's veil: I, deep sunk in gazing, Hear no more the Earth or its poor praising.

Where I have but him Is my fatherland; Every gift a precious gem Come to me from his own hand!

Brothers long deplored, Lo, in his disciples, all restored!

VI.

My faith to thee I break not, If all should faithless be, That grat.i.tude forsake not The world eternally.

For my sake Death did sting thee With anguish keen and sore; Therefore with joy I bring thee This heart for evermore.

Oft weep I like a river That thou art dead, and yet So many of thine thee, Giver Of life, life-long forget!

By love alone possessed, Such great things thou hast done!

But thou art dead, O Blessed, And no one thinks thereon!