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Rampolli. George MacDonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.

Rampolli - George MacDonald


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If I him but have,1

             If he be but mine,

           If my heart, hence to the grave,

             Ne’er forgets his love divine—

           Know I nought of sadness,

           Feel I nought but worship, love, and gladness.

           If I him but have,

             Pleased from all I part;

           Follow, on my pilgrim staff,

             None but him, with honest heart;

           Leave the rest, nought saying,

           On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.

           If I him but have,

              Glad to sleep I sink;

           From his heart the flood he gave

              Shall to mine be food and drink;

           And, with sweet compelling,

           Mine shall soften, deep throughout it welling.

           If I him but have,

              Mine the world I hail;

           Happy, like a cherub grave

              Holding back the Virgin’s veil:

           I, deep sunk in gazing,

           Hear no more the Earth or its poor praising.

           Where I have but him

             Is my fatherland;

           Every gift a precious gem

             Come to me from his own hand!

           Brothers long deplored,

           Lo, in his disciples, all restored!

      VI

           My faith to thee I break not,

             If all should faithless be,

           That gratitude forsake not

             The world eternally.

           For my sake Death did sting thee

             With anguish keen and sore;

           Therefore with joy I bring thee

             This heart for evermore.

           Oft weep I like a river

             That thou art dead, and yet

           So many of thine thee, Giver

             Of life, life-long forget!

           By love alone possessed,

             Such great things thou hast done!

           But thou art dead, O Blessed,

             And no one thinks thereon!

           Thou stand’st with love unshaken

             Ever by every man;

           And if by all forsaken,

             Art still the faithful one.

           Such love must win the wrestle;

             At last thy love they’ll see,

           Weep bitterly, and nestle

             Like children to thy knee.

           Thou with thy love hast found me!

             O do not let me go!

           Keep me where thou hast bound me

             Till one with thee I grow.

           My brothers yet will waken,

             One look to heaven will dart—

           Then sink down, love-o’ertaken,

             And fall upon thy heart.

      VII.

      HYMN

           Few understand

           The mystery of Love,

           Know insatiableness,

           And thirst eternal.

           Of the Last Supper

           The divine meaning

           Is to the earthly senses a riddle;

           But he that ever

           From warm, beloved lips,

           Drew breath of life;

           In whom the holy glow

           Ever melted the heart in trembling waves;

           Whose eye ever opened so

           As to fathom

           The bottomless deeps of heaven—

           Will eat of his body

           And drink of his blood

           Everlastingly.

           Who of the earthly body

           Has divined the lofty sense?

           Who can say

           That he understands the blood?

           One day all is body,

           One body:

           In heavenly blood

           Swims the blissful two.

           Oh that the ocean

           Were even now flushing!

           And in odorous flesh

           The rock were upswelling!

           Never endeth the sweet repast;

           Never doth Love satisfy itself;

           Never close enough, never enough its own,

           Can it have the beloved!

           By ever tenderer lips

           Transformed, the Partaken

           Goes deeper, grows nearer.

           Pleasure more ardent

           Thrills through the soul;

           Thirstier and hungrier

           Becomes the heart;

           And so endureth Love’s delight

           From everlasting to everlasting.

           Had the refraining

           Tasted but once,

           All had they left

           To set themselves down with us

           To the table of longing

           Which will never be bare;

           Then had they known Love’s

           Infinite fullness,

           And


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<p>1</p>

Here I found the double or feminine rhyme impossible without the loss of the far more precious simplicity of the original, which could be retained only by a literal translation.

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