Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 1603

While the mass is cooling now,

Let the labor yield to leisure,

As the bird upon the bough,

Loose the travail to the pleasure.

When the soft stars awaken!

Each task be forsaken!

And the vesper-bell, lulling the earth into peace,

If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release!

Homeward from the tasks of day,

Through the greenwood's welcome way

Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerily,

To the cottage loved so dearly!

And the eye and ear are meeting,

Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating;

Now, the wonted shelter near,

Lowing the lusty-fronted steer

Creaking now the heavy wain,

Reels with the happy harvest grain;

While, with many-colored leaves,

Glitters the garland on the sheaves;

For the mower's work is done,

And the young folks' dance begun!

Desert street, and quiet mart;—

Silence is in the city's heart;

And the social taper lighteth

Each dear face that HOME uniteth;

While the gate the town before

Heavily swings with sullen roar!

Though darkness is spreading

O'er earth—the Upright

And the Honest, undreading,

Look safe on the night

Which the evil man watches in awe,

For the eye of the Night is the Law!

Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies,

Hail, holy ORDER, whose employ

Blends like to like in light and joy—

Builder of cities, who of old

Called the wild man from waste and wold,

And, in his but thy presence stealing,

Roused each familiar household feeling,

And, best of all, the happy ties,

The centre of the social band—

The Instinct of the Fatherland! United thus—each helping each, Brisk work the countless hands forever; For naught its power to Strength can teach, Like Emulation and Endeavor! Thus linked the master with the man, Each in his rights can each revere, And while they march in freedom's van, Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear! To freemen labor is renown! Who works—gives blessings and commands; Kings glory in the orb and crown— Be ours the glory of our hands, Long in these walls—long may we greet Your footfalls, Peace and Concord sweet! Distant the day, oh! distant far, When the rude hordes of trampling War Shall scare the silent vale— The where Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave The air, Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of Eve— Shall the fierce war-brand, tossing in the gale, From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare!