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, The tumult and the shouting dies; An humble and a contrite heart. 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, For heathen heart that puts her trust 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. A thronging host! but one more beautiful Love! Of Thee the last, divinest image, Deep within Adam's heart Thou planted'st it, In his idea of perfection made, For him to create, to him thou broughtest For me create, from me Thou leadest Ever in darkness works-far, far away 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, Ah, then, with rapturous rebeholding, 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 Who blooms his season, droops and dies Which she prescribes for me. But, Holier One, 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 FROM "THE MESSIAH." SEVEN times the thunder's stroke had rent the veil Of this, my most mysterious, highest act, The death of earth's great Judge, the eternal Son; 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; And in the face divine, Eloa read The mandate given. To the celestial host Shout, then, ye cherubim! behold your God; But now, while sons of earth shall joyful sing No more with tears shall they behold the blood Merge in the ocean of immortal life. Oh, then in the soft lap of peace consoled, Race after race of man shall thronging join To rule the spheres are stationed, straight prepare |