"Faith in myself I have!" Then leaping

From thwart to cliff-side, he cried: "Now follow!

Gifted with courage, a man is conquered not, though he fall;

Show that the gift is yours!"

Leaped the warriors, one after another,

Some fell in, were engulfed by the waters,

Others with faith in their conquering strength set foot

Firm on the cliff-side and stood.

SEVENTH SONG

THE LURE OF DREAMS

WORN by the desperate voyage and dreary,
Under the trees thou liest weary.

Now art thou bewailing

The freedom missed in thy dreamful sailing.

Now hast thou for wending

Endless ways, frustration unending.

Now?

Whither beckons thy doom?

Yielding thee up-but to what and to whom?

Seest thou where her veil she raises
With her fair white hands, upreaching
To the throne of grace, and gazes
Fervently in her beseeching?

Like doves homing

Are the prayers she breathes when roaming

Through earth's byways,

As she seeks the heavenly highways,

Notes of love divinely cooing,

In her bosom peace renewing.
Thou?-Driven onward, thy burden bearing,
Knowing no helper, or whither art faring.

Through fog-banks thou goest

Aimless and blind, and no guidance thou knowest.

On dost thou mind thee?

All that thou dost but the tighter doth bind thee. Say!

What is thy goal?

What is the course that shall save thee thy soul?

Hear'st thou, where in rapture quiring,

With other maiden voices blending,
Yearning hers soars up, aspiring,
Toward the bliss that is unending?
Sorrows crushing

Are the water-springs low-singing,
Radiant gushing,

All their dews as offerings bringing.

Life and strength alike thou hast wasted,

Of craft and vengeance the bitterness tasted;

Peace thou hast sought for,

Fumbling with blood-stained hands hast fought for;
Impulses driving

Urge but to evil and death-empty striving.
No!

Way is there none

That leads to the goal to thy vision shown.
See how for thee she is praying,

On her bended knees now planted!
"In his sinful pathway straying,
Be to him salvation granted!"

How unfailing

...

O'er all sinful dreams prevailing,

See her raising

Hands to God, rapt upward gazing: "Saviour, God, do not forsake me,

For Thee yearning, to Thee take me!"

Aimless thy course against destiny beating,
Fallen and outcast;-set thee a meeting
With death on the morrow!

So make an end of thy need and thy sorrow.
On eternity verging,

Thy life without content in nothingness merging.
Have done!

The past dost thou rue,

Naught better the future reveals to thy view. "Up I soar, my longings sating,

All to Thee now consecrating.

Enraptured doth my soul confess Thee,
More and more I would possess Thee.
My heart hath brought me

To the faith that Thou hast taught me,
Now I surely

Rest my hopes in heaven securely;
Welcome them, accept, renew them,
Soon shall I be gathered to them!"

EIGHTH SONG

THE SPRING FRESHETS

WINTER it was not, it was not spring,

Rainfall time,

Weeks of down-pouring, of snow-banks melting. Mountain avalanches, and felling of forests,Then came the fierce and ravaging tempests!

Terror-stricken, men gathered at the hearth-side, Listening to the snow-fields, at the floods staring, Waited and prayed.

Safety was there in no direction,

The boats were away,

Broken the bridges. . . .

...

Thought they, each time a snow-slide started:

Now is our turn!

At times they saw

Overtake the land-slide's rushing horror

A near-by dwelling:

Saw it balanced high up on the mountain,

Growing apace, looming, and falling;

Like a host from the pit it swept darkly onward,

Shaking the earth,

Trees fled before it like living creatures.

...

The hurricane tore with the speed of an arrow,

Onward it dashed,

Uprooted and crashed,

Flung out and smashed

Houses in thousands of splinters.