Rampolli | Page 7

God'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 gratitude
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!
Thou stand'st with love unshaken
Ever by every man;
And if by all
forsaken,
Art still the faithful one.
Such love must win the wrestle;

At last thy love they'll see,
Weep bitterly, and nestle
Like
children to thy knee.
Thou with thy love hast found me!
O do not let me go!
Keep me
where thou hast bound me
Till one with thee I grow.
My brothers
yet will waken,
One look to heaven will dart--
Then sink down,
love-o'ertaken,
And fall upon thy heart.
VII.
HYMN.
Few understand
The mystery of Love,
Know insatiableness,
And
thirst eternal.
Of the Last Supper

The divine meaning
Is to the
earthly senses a riddle;
But he that ever
From warm, beloved lips,


Drew breath of life;
In whom the holy glow
Ever melted the
heart in trembling waves;
Whose eye ever opened so
As to fathom

The bottomless deeps of heaven--
Will eat of his body
And drink
of his blood
Everlastingly.
Who of the earthly body
Has divined
the lofty sense?
Who can say
That he understands the blood?
One
day all is body,
One body:
In heavenly blood
Swims the blissful
two.
Oh that the ocean
Were even now flushing!
And in odorous flesh

The rock were upswelling!
Never endeth the sweet repast;
Never
doth Love satisfy itself;
Never close enough, never enough its own,

Can it have the beloved!
By ever tenderer lips
Transformed, the
Partaken
Goes deeper, grows nearer.
Pleasure more ardent
Thrills
through the soul;
Thirstier