Why seek ye me in dust, forlorn,
Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting?
Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting?
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
Christ hath arisen!
Joy to humanity!
No more shall vanity,
Death and inanity
Hold thee in prison!
_Faust_. What hum of music, what a radiant tone,
Thrills through me, from my lips the goblet stealing!
Ye murmuring bells, already make ye known
The Easter morn's first hour, with solemn pealing?
Sing you, ye choirs, e'en now, the glad, consoling song,
That once, from angel-lips, through gloom sepulchral rung,
A new immortal covenant sealing?
_Chorus of Women_. Spices we carried,
Laid them upon his breast;
Tenderly buried
Him whom we loved the best;
Cleanly to bind him
Took we the fondest care,
Ah! and we find him
Now no more there.
_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath ascended!
Reign in benignity!
Pain and indignity,
Scorn and malignity,
_Their_ work have ended.
_Faust_.
Why seek ye me in dust, forlorn,
Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting?
Go, greet pure-hearted men this holy morn!
Your message well I hear, but faith to me is wanting;
Wonder, its dearest child, of Faith is born.
To yonder spheres I dare no more aspire,
Whence the sweet tidings downward float;
And yet, from childhood heard, the old, familiar note
Calls back e'en now to life my warm desire.
Ah! once how sweetly fell on me the kiss
Of heavenly love in the still Sabbath stealing!
Prophetically rang the bells with solemn pealing;
A prayer was then the ecstasy of bliss;
A blessed and mysterious yearning
Drew me to roam through meadows, woods, and skies;
And, midst a thousand tear-drops burning,
I felt a world within me rise
That strain, oh, how it speaks youth's gleesome plays and feelings,
Joys of spring-festivals long past;
Remembrance holds me now, with childhood's fond appealings,
Back from the fatal step, the last.
Sound on, ye heavenly strains, that bliss restore me!
Tears gush, once more the spell of earth is o'er me
_Chorus of Disciples_. Has the grave's lowly one
Risen victorious?
Sits he, God's Holy One,
High-throned and glorious?
He, in this blest new birth,
Rapture creative knows;[9]
Ah! on the breast of earth
Taste we still nature's woes.
Left here to languish
Lone in a world like this,
Fills us with anguish
Master, thy bliss!
_Chorus of Angels_. Christ has arisen
Out of corruption's gloom.
Joy to humanity!
No more shall vanity,
Death and inanity
Hold thee in prison!
_Faust_. What hum of music, what a radiant tone,
Thrills through me, from my lips the goblet stealing!
Ye murmuring bells, already make ye known
The Easter morn's first hour, with solemn pealing?
Sing you, ye choirs, e'en now, the glad, consoling song,
That once, from angel-lips, through gloom sepulchral rung,
A new immortal covenant sealing?
_Chorus of Women_. Spices we carried,
Laid them upon his breast;
Tenderly buried
Him whom we loved the best;
Cleanly to bind him
Took we the fondest care,
Ah! and we find him
Now no more there.
_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath ascended!
Reign in benignity!
Pain and indignity,
Scorn and malignity,
_Their_ work have ended.
_Faust_.
Why seek ye me in dust, forlorn,
Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting?
Go, greet pure-hearted men this holy morn!
Your message well I hear, but faith to me is wanting;
Wonder, its dearest child, of Faith is born.
To yonder spheres I dare no more aspire,
Whence the sweet tidings downward float;
And yet, from childhood heard, the old, familiar note
Calls back e'en now to life my warm desire.
Ah! once how sweetly fell on me the kiss
Of heavenly love in the still Sabbath stealing!
Prophetically rang the bells with solemn pealing;
A prayer was then the ecstasy of bliss;
A blessed and mysterious yearning
Drew me to roam through meadows, woods, and skies;
And, midst a thousand tear-drops burning,
I felt a world within me rise
That strain, oh, how it speaks youth's gleesome plays and feelings,
Joys of spring-festivals long past;
Remembrance holds me now, with childhood's fond appealings,
Back from the fatal step, the last.
Sound on, ye heavenly strains, that bliss restore me!
Tears gush, once more the spell of earth is o'er me
_Chorus of Disciples_. Has the grave's lowly one
Risen victorious?
Sits he, God's Holy One,
High-throned and glorious?
He, in this blest new birth,
Rapture creative knows;[9]
Ah! on the breast of earth
Taste we still nature's woes.
Left here to languish
Lone in a world like this,
Fills us with anguish
Master, thy bliss!
_Chorus of Angels_. Christ has arisen
Out of corruption's gloom.
