LONGINGS.FROM THE FRENCH OF ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE.I said: O heart! what is thy goal—thy end?As the lambs follow where the mothers lead,Shall I so tread their footprints who precede,And life’s brief, death-doomed hour in folly spend?One chases wealth across the restless wave—Whelmed in the deep, his bark, his hopes go down;Another loves the acclaim of vain renown,And finds in glory’s bosom but a grave.One makes men’s passions serve as steps to rise,And mounts a throne—anon behold him fall;Another dallies where soft accents call,And reads his destiny in woman’s eyes.In hunger’s arms I see the idler faint,The laborer drive his ploughshare through the soil,The wise man’s books, the warrior’s deadly toil,The beggar by the wayside making plaint.All pass; but whither? Whither flits the leafChased by the rough blast, torn by winter rime?So fade they from their various ways as timeHarvests and sows the generations brief.They strove ’gainst time—time conquers all at last.As the light sand-bank wastes down in the stream,I see them vanish. Was their life a dream?So quickly are they come, so quickly passed!For me, I sing the Lord whom I adore,In crowded cities or in deserts dun,At rise of day or at the set of sun,Tossed on the sea or couching on the shore.Earth cries out: Who is God? That soul divineWhose presence fills the illimitable place;Who with one step doth span the realms of space;Who lends his splendor in the sun to shine;Who bade from nothing rise creation’s morn;Who made on nothingness the world to stand;Who held the sea in check ere yet was land;Who gazed, and light ineffable was born;For whom no morrow and no yesterday;Who through eternity doth self sustain;To whom revealed the future lieth plain;Who can recall the past and bid it stay—God! Let his hundred names of glory wakeFor ever in my song! Oh! be my tongueA golden harp before his altar hung,Until his hand shall touch me and I break.
FROM THE FRENCH OF ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE.
I said: O heart! what is thy goal—thy end?As the lambs follow where the mothers lead,Shall I so tread their footprints who precede,And life’s brief, death-doomed hour in folly spend?One chases wealth across the restless wave—Whelmed in the deep, his bark, his hopes go down;Another loves the acclaim of vain renown,And finds in glory’s bosom but a grave.One makes men’s passions serve as steps to rise,And mounts a throne—anon behold him fall;Another dallies where soft accents call,And reads his destiny in woman’s eyes.In hunger’s arms I see the idler faint,The laborer drive his ploughshare through the soil,The wise man’s books, the warrior’s deadly toil,The beggar by the wayside making plaint.All pass; but whither? Whither flits the leafChased by the rough blast, torn by winter rime?So fade they from their various ways as timeHarvests and sows the generations brief.They strove ’gainst time—time conquers all at last.As the light sand-bank wastes down in the stream,I see them vanish. Was their life a dream?So quickly are they come, so quickly passed!For me, I sing the Lord whom I adore,In crowded cities or in deserts dun,At rise of day or at the set of sun,Tossed on the sea or couching on the shore.Earth cries out: Who is God? That soul divineWhose presence fills the illimitable place;Who with one step doth span the realms of space;Who lends his splendor in the sun to shine;Who bade from nothing rise creation’s morn;Who made on nothingness the world to stand;Who held the sea in check ere yet was land;Who gazed, and light ineffable was born;For whom no morrow and no yesterday;Who through eternity doth self sustain;To whom revealed the future lieth plain;Who can recall the past and bid it stay—God! Let his hundred names of glory wakeFor ever in my song! Oh! be my tongueA golden harp before his altar hung,Until his hand shall touch me and I break.
I said: O heart! what is thy goal—thy end?As the lambs follow where the mothers lead,Shall I so tread their footprints who precede,And life’s brief, death-doomed hour in folly spend?One chases wealth across the restless wave—Whelmed in the deep, his bark, his hopes go down;Another loves the acclaim of vain renown,And finds in glory’s bosom but a grave.One makes men’s passions serve as steps to rise,And mounts a throne—anon behold him fall;Another dallies where soft accents call,And reads his destiny in woman’s eyes.In hunger’s arms I see the idler faint,The laborer drive his ploughshare through the soil,The wise man’s books, the warrior’s deadly toil,The beggar by the wayside making plaint.All pass; but whither? Whither flits the leafChased by the rough blast, torn by winter rime?So fade they from their various ways as timeHarvests and sows the generations brief.They strove ’gainst time—time conquers all at last.As the light sand-bank wastes down in the stream,I see them vanish. Was their life a dream?So quickly are they come, so quickly passed!For me, I sing the Lord whom I adore,In crowded cities or in deserts dun,At rise of day or at the set of sun,Tossed on the sea or couching on the shore.Earth cries out: Who is God? That soul divineWhose presence fills the illimitable place;Who with one step doth span the realms of space;Who lends his splendor in the sun to shine;Who bade from nothing rise creation’s morn;Who made on nothingness the world to stand;Who held the sea in check ere yet was land;Who gazed, and light ineffable was born;For whom no morrow and no yesterday;Who through eternity doth self sustain;To whom revealed the future lieth plain;Who can recall the past and bid it stay—God! Let his hundred names of glory wakeFor ever in my song! Oh! be my tongueA golden harp before his altar hung,Until his hand shall touch me and I break.
I said: O heart! what is thy goal—thy end?As the lambs follow where the mothers lead,Shall I so tread their footprints who precede,And life’s brief, death-doomed hour in folly spend?
I said: O heart! what is thy goal—thy end?
As the lambs follow where the mothers lead,
Shall I so tread their footprints who precede,
And life’s brief, death-doomed hour in folly spend?
One chases wealth across the restless wave—Whelmed in the deep, his bark, his hopes go down;Another loves the acclaim of vain renown,And finds in glory’s bosom but a grave.
One chases wealth across the restless wave—
Whelmed in the deep, his bark, his hopes go down;
Another loves the acclaim of vain renown,
And finds in glory’s bosom but a grave.
One makes men’s passions serve as steps to rise,And mounts a throne—anon behold him fall;Another dallies where soft accents call,And reads his destiny in woman’s eyes.
One makes men’s passions serve as steps to rise,
And mounts a throne—anon behold him fall;
Another dallies where soft accents call,
And reads his destiny in woman’s eyes.
In hunger’s arms I see the idler faint,The laborer drive his ploughshare through the soil,The wise man’s books, the warrior’s deadly toil,The beggar by the wayside making plaint.
In hunger’s arms I see the idler faint,
The laborer drive his ploughshare through the soil,
The wise man’s books, the warrior’s deadly toil,
The beggar by the wayside making plaint.
All pass; but whither? Whither flits the leafChased by the rough blast, torn by winter rime?So fade they from their various ways as timeHarvests and sows the generations brief.
All pass; but whither? Whither flits the leaf
Chased by the rough blast, torn by winter rime?
So fade they from their various ways as time
Harvests and sows the generations brief.
They strove ’gainst time—time conquers all at last.As the light sand-bank wastes down in the stream,I see them vanish. Was their life a dream?So quickly are they come, so quickly passed!
They strove ’gainst time—time conquers all at last.
As the light sand-bank wastes down in the stream,
I see them vanish. Was their life a dream?
So quickly are they come, so quickly passed!
For me, I sing the Lord whom I adore,In crowded cities or in deserts dun,At rise of day or at the set of sun,Tossed on the sea or couching on the shore.
For me, I sing the Lord whom I adore,
In crowded cities or in deserts dun,
At rise of day or at the set of sun,
Tossed on the sea or couching on the shore.
Earth cries out: Who is God? That soul divineWhose presence fills the illimitable place;Who with one step doth span the realms of space;Who lends his splendor in the sun to shine;
Earth cries out: Who is God? That soul divine
Whose presence fills the illimitable place;
Who with one step doth span the realms of space;
Who lends his splendor in the sun to shine;
Who bade from nothing rise creation’s morn;Who made on nothingness the world to stand;Who held the sea in check ere yet was land;Who gazed, and light ineffable was born;
Who bade from nothing rise creation’s morn;
Who made on nothingness the world to stand;
Who held the sea in check ere yet was land;
Who gazed, and light ineffable was born;
For whom no morrow and no yesterday;Who through eternity doth self sustain;To whom revealed the future lieth plain;Who can recall the past and bid it stay—
For whom no morrow and no yesterday;
Who through eternity doth self sustain;
To whom revealed the future lieth plain;
Who can recall the past and bid it stay—
God! Let his hundred names of glory wakeFor ever in my song! Oh! be my tongueA golden harp before his altar hung,Until his hand shall touch me and I break.
God! Let his hundred names of glory wake
For ever in my song! Oh! be my tongue
A golden harp before his altar hung,
Until his hand shall touch me and I break.