SONGS OF THE SOUL
O tell, Thou, O Fiery Mood,
Who art yet so good,—
Thy Royal Will,
I know not still.
Who art yet so good,—
Thy Royal Will,
I know not still.
The Lord sang:
"Am Endless Doom,
All bent to room
In burning maw
Of mine the weaklings’ awe
And all the mortal meat
Of weary worlds of deathly change, and treat
Them with my nectar life
To new and fearless, better strife.
E’en if thou dost not slay
These wicked warriors all in war array,
They surely certain have to fall,
Ah, in my teeth-of-law, withal.
Arise, awake! Arise, awake!
Oh, dash to war thy foe, the flesh a captive make,
And seize the victor’s fame,
With battle-hunted game,
"Am Endless Doom,
All bent to room
In burning maw
Of mine the weaklings’ awe
And all the mortal meat
Of weary worlds of deathly change, and treat
Them with my nectar life
To new and fearless, better strife.
E’en if thou dost not slay
These wicked warriors all in war array,
They surely certain have to fall,
Ah, in my teeth-of-law, withal.
Arise, awake! Arise, awake!
Oh, dash to war thy foe, the flesh a captive make,
And seize the victor’s fame,
With battle-hunted game,
[continued]
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