Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Ho, don't you grieve for me,

My lovely Mary-Anne,

For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit As a time-expired man.

RECESSIONAL.

GOD of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine —
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

Far called, our navies melt away;

On dune and headland sinks the fire: Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget - lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not thee in awe,Such boasting as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law,
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not thee to guard,
For frantic boasts and foolish word,
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!

Amen.

FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK.

FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK, a German poet, born at Quedlinburg, Prussia, July 2, 1724; died at Hamburg, March 14, 1803. At an early age, he conceived the idea of writing an epic poem on the story of Henry the Fowler. He entered the University of Jena, where he studied until 1745, and his enthusiasm took a religious turn, and he chose "The Messiah" as the theme of his proposed epic. In 1746 he went to Leipsic, where a literary association had been gathered together, the aim of which was an entire renovation of the form and spirit of German poetry. The first three cantos of Klopstock's "Messiah" were published in the Literarische Zeitung in 1748, the last part as late as 1773. In 1750 the Danish PrimeMinister invited him to Copenhagen, offering him a pension of $300, so that he might be able to devote himself wholly to the composition of his epic. He was received at Copenhagen with marked distinction; became a favorite of the King, by whom he was employed in honorable official posts, ending in 1771 with that of Councilor of the Danish Legation at Hamburg. His funeral was celebrated with a pomp almost regal.

Of Klopstock's works the more important are "The Messiah," "The Death of Adam," "Solomon," and "David."

ODE TO GOD.

THOU Jehovah

Art named, but I am dust of dust.
Dust, yet eternal: for the immortal Soul
Thou gaved'st me, gaved'st Thou for eternity;
Breathed'st into her, to form thy maze,
Sublime desires for peace and bliss,

A thronging host! but one more beautiful
Than all the rest, is as the Queen of all,

Love!

Of Thee the last, divinest image,
The fairest, most attractive
Thou feelest it, though, as the Eternal One,
It feel, rejoicing, the high angels whom
Thou mad'st celestial Thy last image,
The fairest and divinest Love!

Deep within Adam's heart Thou planted'st it,

In his idea of perfection made,

For him to create, to him thou broughtest
The Mother of the Human Race.
Deep also in my heart thou planted'st:
In my idea of perfection made,

For me create, from me Thou leadest
Her whom my soul entirely loves.
Toward her my soul is all outshed in tears
My full soul weeps, to stream itself away
Wholly in tears! From me Thou leadest
Her whom I love, O God! from me
For so Thy destiny, invisibly,

Ever in darkness works-far, far away
From my fond arms in vain extended-

But not away from my sad heart!

And yet Thou knowest why Thou didst conceive, And to reality creating, call

Souls so susceptible of feeling,

And for each other fitted so.

Thou knowest, Creator! But Thy destiny

Those souls thus born for each other-parts: High destiny impenetrable

How dark, yet how adorable!

But Life, when with Eternity compared,

Is like the swift breath by the dying breathed,
The last breath, where with flees the spirit
That aye to endless life aspired.
What once was labyrinth in glory melts
Away-and destiny is then no more.

Ah, then, with rapturous rebeholding,
Thou givest soul to soul again!
Thought of the Soul and of Eternity,
Worthy and meet to sooth the saddest pain:
My soul conceives it in its greatness;

But, Oh, I feel too much the life

That here I live! Like immortality,

What seemed a breath fearfully wide extends!

I

see, I see my bosom's anguish

In boundless darkness magnified.

God let this life pass like a fleeting breath! Ah, no! But her, who seems designed for me, Give easy for Thee to accord me

Give to my trembling, tearful heart! The pleasing awe that thrills me, meeting her! The suppressed stammer of the dying soul,

That has no words to say its feelings And save by tears is wholly mute! Give her unto my arms, which, innocent In childhood, oft to Thee in heaven, When with the fervor of devotion

I prayed of Thee eternal peace!

With the same effort dost Thou grant and take
From the poor worm, whose hours are centuries,
This brief felicity—the worm, man,

Who blooms his season, droops and dies
By her beloved, I beautiful and blest
Will Virtue call, and on her heavenly form
With fixed eye will gaze, and only
Own that for peace and happiness

Which she prescribes for me. But, Holier One,
Thee, too, who dwell'st afar in higher state
Than human virtue - Thee I'll honor,
Only by God observed, more pure.
By her beloved, will I more zealously,
Rejoicing, meet before Thee, and pour forth
My fuller heart, Eternal Father,

In hallelujas ferventer.

Then, when she with me, she Thine exalted praise Weeps up to heaven in prayer, with eyes that swim In ecstasy, shall I already

With her that higher life enjoy.

The song of the Messiah, in her arms
Quaffing enjoyment pure, I nobler may
Sing to the Good, who love as deeply
And, being Christians, feel as we!

FROM "THE MESSIAH."

SEVEN times the thunder's stroke had rent the veil
When now the voice of God in gentle tone
Was heard descending: "God is Love," it spoke
"Love, ere the worlds or their inhabitants
To life were called. In the accomplishment

Of this, my most mysterious, highest act,
Love am I still. Angels, ye shall behold

The death of earth's great Judge, the eternal Son;
And ye shall learn to know the Deity,

With adoration new to invoke his name.

Should not his arm uphold ye, at the sight

Of that dread day in terror ye would fade;
For finite are your forms!" The voice now ceased.
Their holy hands the admiring angels clasped
In silent awe. A sign the Almighty made,

And in the face divine, Eloa read

The mandate given. To the celestial host
He cried, "Lift up your eyes to the Most High,
Ye chosen, favored children! Ye have longed
(God is your witness) to behold this day
Of his Messiah, this atoning day!

Shout, then, ye cherubim! behold your God;
The First and Last, the great Jehovah, deigns
To meet your wish. Yon seraph, messenger
From the eternal Son on your behalf,
Is to the altar sent. Had ye not been
Permitted thus to view the wondrous work
Of man's redemption, secret it had passed
In solitary, silent mystery.

But now, while sons of earth shall joyful sing
This day throughout eternity, our voice
In shouts shall join their chorus.
With glad eye
Of piercing vision shall we contemplate
This mystery of atonement; clearer far
Shall we perceive it than the weeping band,
Who, though in error clouded, faithful still
Surround their Savior. Ah, what shall befall
His hardened persecutors! From life's book
Their names have long been blotted. Light divine
Jehovah grants alone to his redeemed;

No more with tears shall they behold the blood
For their atonement shed, but see its stream

Merge in the ocean of immortal life.

Oh, then in the soft lap of peace consoled,
The festival of light, and endless rest,
Triumphant shall they celebrate! Ye hosts
Of seraphim, and ye blest ransomed souls
Of righteous patriarchs, the jubilee,
The Sabbath of eternity, draws near!

Race after race of man shall thronging join
Your happy numbers, till, the reckoning filled,
The final doom pronounced, with glorious forms
All shall anew be clothed, and jointly taste
One universal bliss! Now, angels, haste!
Bid the seraphic guardians, who by God

To rule the spheres are stationed, straight prepare

« AnteriorContinuar »