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These are the weapons which a man
Will buckle to his side ;
Serene, in honest pride.
He knows full well to save ;
These, like a true and valiant knight,
He carries to the grave.
7. G. SEIDL.-Männerwaffen. THE SHEPHERD'S SUNDAY.
It is the Lord's own day.
A lonely plain is stretching round,
One morning chime has yet to sound ... And now it dies away.
A suppliant here I bend.
O breathing silence, dread delight,
With mine their vows to blend !
Far as the eye can stray,
The heavens are clear, as though about
Their golden gates to open out. It is the Lord's own day.
Can any horn of plenty
From age to age avail ? Has not each bloom been gathered
Each fount begun to fail?'
So long as rolls through ether
The chariot of the sun;
1 Wann wird einst ausgesungen
Das alte, ew'ge Lied ?
So long as gazes upward
Of humankind but one ;
So long as, after tempest,
The rainbow spans the sky, And tells one stricken spirit
Of peace and pardon nigh;
So long as night is sowing
The heaven with starry seed, And of the golden writing
One man the signs can read ;1
So long as in the moonlight
One heart a transport knows; So long as woods are wooing
One pilgrim to repose;
So lang die Nacht den Aether
Mit Sternensaat besät,
Der goldnen Schrift versteht.
So long as spring is verdant,
And roses greet the sight; So long as eyes are smiling,
Or sparkle with delight;
So long as, decked with cypress,
The grave can grief awake; So long as falls one tear-drop,
One heart is left to break;
So long, on earth a Power,
Shall Poesy abide,
Shall triumph at her side ;
And through the old world singing,
In ages beyond ken,
The last of bards to leave it
Shall be the last of men.