Thou
knowest not his face,
Nor yet his name canst guess;
Stammering
you will greet
Nor
know who shall fall at whose feet.
Thus,
God went about at His ease,
My dear
little grandfather to tease.
For a
word of beauteous rareness
In my
music interweaves,
Matching
all it hath of fairness.
And
it says: Thy darling lives!
Match,
O soul, in exultation
Golden
music of the strings;
For
the grave no longer hath him --
Heart,
he is arisen - sing!
Heart
it is the sorely missed,
For
whom the earth its anguish bore,
Whom
they lured into the coffin,
Whom
the boar's vile tushes tore.
Ah,
he was no longer present,
Desolate
the barren earth,
Till
we heard: He is arisen--
Dear
old Father, pray have faith!
Godlike
in his steps he paces,
Round
his head bright summer birds do reel,
As
across the flowery spaces
Lo,
he greets thee with a smile!
Wintry
grief and deathly anguish
From
his kiss away have flown;
On
his lips and cheeks and forehead
Hath
the Eternal favour strewn.
Read
it in his laughing features
All
was but a godlike jest;
And in
late-believing raptures
Take
him to thy father-breast!
Who
then do I sing, O Grandfather mine,
Who
but my uncle so tall and so fine?
Look
up, old man, it thy dear son,
Greater
is Pharaoh only by his throne.
Grandfather,
at first you cannot follow,
But
in the end you will have it to swallow.
For a
word of wonder-rareness
In my
music interweaves,
Matching
all it hath of fairness,
And
it says: Thy darling lives!
Match,
O soul, with exaltation
Golden
music of the strings,
For
the grave no longer hath him,
Heart,
He is arisen—sing!
Ah, he
was no longer present,
Desolate
the barren earth—
Till we
heard: He is arisen.
Dear old
Father, pray have faith!
From thousands
of barns he spendeth them bread
To
carry them over their hunger and need;
For
he like Noah wisely hath provided,
And
therefore is his name o'er all beloved.
His garments
in myrrh and in aloes are pressed,
In ivory
palaces he sets up his rest,
And
issueth like bridegroom forth from them--
Old one
behold what hath become of thy lamb!
Rarest
wonder, past believing,
That
in one should be the two:
That all
poesy is living,
And
the beautiful the true.
Here for
once is now achieved
That for
which the soul doth strive,
Let my
burden be believed,
True and
beautiful, thy son's alive!
Lo, now,
old one, behold and see,
G-d, He
can scourge and can heal,
How marvellous
all His ways can be
For His
human children's weal!
He snatched
away thy dearest and best,
But thou
shalt take him again to thy breast,
Thou
hast writhen, old one in thy pain,
Yet found
thyself in it again;
But now
he returneth to you,
Still
lovely, though rather stouter to view.
So G-d
goes about as He pleases
And
dear little Grandfather teases.