God is near Yet hard to seize. Where there is danger, The rescue grows as well. Eagles live in the darkness, And the sons of the Alps Go fearlessly over the abyss Upon bridges simply built. Therefore, since the peaks Of Time are heaped all about, And dear ones live close by, Worn down on the most separated mountains — Then give us innocent waters; Give us wings, and the truest minds To voyage over and then again to return. The shaded forests and longing Streams of my homeland.
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God is near Yet hard to seize. Where there is danger, The rescue grows as well. Eagles live in the darkness, And the sons of the Alps Go fearlessly over the abyss Upon bridges simply built. Therefore, since the peaks Of Time are heaped all about, And dear ones live close by, Worn down on the most separated mountains — Then give us innocent waters; Give us wings, and the truest minds To voyage over and then again to return.
The shaded forests and longing Streams of my homeland. Up above In the light the silver snow Blooms, and ivy grows from ancient Times on the inapproachable walls, Like a witness to immortal life, While the joyous, the god-built palaces Are borne by living columns Of cypress, cedar and laurel.
And when I heard, that one of these close by Was Patmos, I wanted very much To put in there, to enter The dark grotto. For unlike Cyprus, rich with springs, Or any of the others, Patmos.
Thus she once looked after The seer who was loved by god, Who in his holy youth. Thus did that attentive man observe The countenance of the god precisely, There at the mystery of the grapevine, Where they sat together at the hour Of the Last Supper, when the Lord with His great spirit quietly envisioning His Own death, and forespoke it and also His final act of love, for He always Had words of kindness to speak, Even then in His prescience, To soften the violence and wildness of the world.
For all is good. Then He died. Much Could be said about it. At the end His friends recognized how filled with joy He appeared, how victorious. It penetrated them like fire into iron, And the One they love walked beside them Like a shadow. Then once more He appeared to them At his departure. For now The royal day of the sun Was extinguished, as he cast The shining scepter from himself, With godlike suffering, but knowing He would come again at the right time.
It would have been wrong To cut off disloyally His work The work of humankind, since now it brought Him joy To live on in loving night, to preserve Before simple eyes, unrelated The depths of wisdom. Deep in the Mountains grew also living images,. Yet it is terrible how God here and there Scatters the living, and how very far they are flung. And how fearsome it was to leave The sight of dear friends and walk off Alone far over the mountains, where The Holy Spirit was twice Recognized, in unity.
But when He dies —He about whom beauty hangs Loved most of all, so that a miracle Surrounded him, and he was the Elect of the heavens — And when those who lived together Thereafter in His memory, became Perplexed and no longer understood One another; and when floods carry off The sand and willows and temples, And when the fame of the demi-god And His disciples is blown away And even the Highest turns aside his Countenance, so that nothing Immortal can be seen either In heaven or upon the green earth — What meaning must we take from all of this?
It is the cast of the sower, as he seizes Wheat with his shovel Throwing it into the clear air, Swinging it across the threshing floor.
The chaff falls to his feet, but The grain emerges in the end. The lords are kind, but while they reign They hate falsehood most, when humans become Inhuman. For not they, but undying Fate It is that rules, and their work Transforms itself and quickly reaches an end. When the heavenly triumph proceeds higher. Then the joyful Son of the Highest Is called like the sun by the strong,.
As a watchword, like the staff of a song That points downwards, For nothing is ordinary. It awakens The dead, those raised incorruptible. And many are waiting whose eyes are Still too shy to see the light directly. But when quiet radiance falls From the Holy Scripture, with The world forgotten and their eyes Swollen, then they may enjoy that grace, And study the quiet image. And if the heavens love me, As I now believe, Then how much more Do they love you.
For I know one thing: That the will of the eternal Father Concerns you greatly. Under a thundering sky His sign is silent. And there is One who stands Beneath it all his life. For Christ still lives. But the heroes, all his sons Have come, and the Holy Scriptures Concerning Him and the lightening, Explain the deeds of the Earth up to this day, Like a footrace that knows no end. And He is with us too, for his works and all Known to Him from the very beginning.
For far too long The honor of the heavens Has gone unseen. They practically have to Guide our fingers as we write, And with embarrassment the power Is ripped from our hearts. For every heavenly being Expects a sacrifice, And when this is neglected, Nothing good can come of it.
German song must accord with this. By Scott Horton , on July 16, Thus she once looked after The seer who was loved by god, Who in his holy youth Had walked together inseparably With the Son of the Highest, Because the Bringer-of-Storms loved The simplicity of this disciple. Deep in the Mountains grew also living images, Yet it is terrible how God here and there Scatters the living, and how very far they are flung. Then the joyful Son of the Highest Is called like the sun by the strong, As a watchword, like the staff of a song That points downwards, For nothing is ordinary.
HÃ¶lderlinâs “Patmos” and Meterâs Î»ÏÎ³Î¿Ï
The ultimate appeal is to the rhyme of a narrative. The implications of this intersection between poetics and theological argument are crucial. The point of this brief comparison between Reimarus and Klopstock is that measure is contingent, and that the sense of language may vary radically, depending on the measure involved. All of this at stake, when it comes to considering the sort of poetic thinking that is done by both speakers. All of this is at stake, in approaching the sort of refutation that the Landgraf von Homburg solicits, however little he may have had meter in mind. And yet Klopstock refuses.