-You will have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm to hearken to your longing,-
-Until over calm longing seas the bark glides, the golden marvel, around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:-
-Also many large and small animals, and everything that has light marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,-
-Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he, however, is the vintager who waits with the diamond vintage-knife,-
-Your great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one- for whom future songs only will find names! And verily, already has your breath the fragrance of future songs,-
-Already glow you and dream, already drink you thirstily at all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposes your melancholy in the bliss of future songs!- -
O my soul, now have I given you all, and even my last possession, and all my hands have become empty by you:- that I bade you sing, behold, that was my last thing to give!
That I bade you sing,- say now, say: which of us now- owes thanks?- Better still, however: sing to me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank you!-
Thus spoke Zarathustra.