AGE AFTER AGE, hast Thou, O Lord, sent Thy messengers into this pitiless world, who have left their word: 'Forgive all. Love all. Cleanse your hearts from the blood-red stains of hatred.' Adorable are they, ever to be remembered; yet from the outer door have I turned them away to-day-this evil daywith unmeaning salutation. Have I not seen secret malignance strike down the helpless under the cover of hypocritical night? Have I not heard the silenced voice of Justice weeping in solitude at might's defiant outrages? Have I not seen in what agony reckless youth, running mad, has vainly shattered its life against insensitive rocks? Choked is my voice, mute are my songs to-day, and darkly my world lies imprisoned in a dismal dream; and I ask Thee, O Lord, in tears: 'Hast Thou Thyself forgiven, hast even Thou loved those who are poisoning Thy air, and blotting out Thy light?'
I THOUGHT I should ask of thee but I dared not the rose wreath thou hadst on thy neck. Thus I waited for the morning, when thou didst depart, to find a few fragments on the bed. And like a beggar I searched in the dawn only for a stray petal or two. Ah me, what is it I find? What token left of thy love? It is no flower, no spices, no vase of perfumed water. It is thy mighty sword, flashing as a flame, heavy as a bolt of thunder. The young light of morning comes through the window and spreads itself upon thy bed. The morning bird twitters and asks, 'Woman, what hast thou got?' No, it is no flower, nor spices, nor vase of perfumed waterit is thy dreadful sword. I sit and muse in wonder, what gift is this of thine. I can find no place where to hide it. I am ashamed to wear it, frail as I am, and it hurts me when I press it to my bosom. Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour of the burden of pain, this gift of thine. From now there shall be no fear left for me in this world, and thou shalt be victorious in all my strife. Thou hast left death for my companion and I shall crown him with my life. Thy sword is with me to cut asunder my bonds, and there shall be no fear left for me in the world. From now I leave off all petty decorations. Lord of my heart, no more shall there be for me waiting and weeping in corners, no more coyness and sweetness of demeanour. Thou hast given me thy sword for adornment. No more doll's decorations for me!
WHEN THE market is over and they return homewards through the dusk, I sit at the wayside to watch thee plying thy boat, Crossing the dark water with the sunset gleam upon thy sail; I see thy silent figure standing at the helm and suddenly catch thy eyes gazing upon me; I leave my song; and cry to thee to take me across.
