HE tide will ebb at day's decline: Ich bin dein! Impatient for the open sea, At anchor rocks the tossing ship, The ship which only waits for thee; Yet with no tremble of the lip I say again, thy hand in mine, Ich bin dein!
I shall not weep, or grieve, or pine: Ich bin dein! Go, lave once more thy restless hands Afar within the azure sea,— Traverse Arabia's scorching sands,— Fly where no thought can follow thee, O'er desert waste and billowy brine: Ich bin dein!
Dream on the slopes of Apennine: Ich bin dein! Stand where the glaciers freeze and frown, Where Alpine torrents flash and foam, Or watch the loving sun go down Behind the purple hills of Rome, Leaving a twilight half divine: Ich bin dein!
Thy steps may fall beside the Rhine: Ich bin dein! Slumber may kiss thy drooping lids Amid the mazes of the Nile, The shadow of the Pyramids May cool thy feet,—yet all the while, Though storms may beat, or stars may shine, Ich bin dein!
Where smile the hills of Palestine, Ich bin dein! Where rise the mosques and minarets,— Where every breath brings flowery balms,— Where souls forget their dark regrets Beneath the strange, mysterious palms,— Where the banana builds her shrine,— Ich bin dein!
Too many clusters break the vine: Ich bin dein! The tree whose strength and life outpour In one exultant blossom-gush Must flowerless be forevermore: We walk this way but once, friend;—hush! Our feet have left no trodden line: Ich bin din!
Who heaps his goblet wastes his wine: Ich bin dein! The boat is moving from the land;— I have no chiding and no tears;— Now give me back my empty hand To battle with the cruel years,— Behold, the triumph shall be mine! Ich bin dein!
HE tide will ebb at day's decline:
HE tide will ebb at day's decline: