Let our teachings not be thought
A reprehensible offense:
Reasons for them can be sought
In nether grounds of common sense.
So it is you learn that man,
At peace with self in thought and act,
Would keep his being, if he can,
In heaven, as on earth, intact.
As for me, my ich has hugged
On earth a need for tout confort,
Pleasures such as I have glugged
I'll want hereafter, evermore.
A garden, thus, or fruit, may so
Delight, a flower, a pretty lass
Appeal to us down here below -
To spirits young again, no less.
Friends I'd gather round, likewise,
And be with them, the old, the young,
We'd stammer words of Paradise,
Jubilant, in the German tongue.
Angel and man, when tête-à-tête,
Albeit, dialects compose:
A secret grammar, delicate
Declensions of poppy and the rose.
Glad we are when looks of bliss
We interchange as rhetoric;
We rise to heavenly ecstasies,
No sound, no voice in what we speak.
Self-evidently sound abates,
Voice its every word repeals;
In Glory, no one hesitates,
Intensely infinite one feels.
If Paradise provide, again,
For Senses Five the wherewithal,
Certain it is I shall obtain
A Single Sense embracing all.
Now lighter through the eternal rings
I pass, no matter where I be -
The Word that penetrates them sings
God's artless living melody.
There unimpeded urges burn
With never an end or latterday,
Till face to face with Love we turn
To floating air and drift away.
A reprehensible offense:
Reasons for them can be sought
In nether grounds of common sense.
So it is you learn that man,
At peace with self in thought and act,
Would keep his being, if he can,
In heaven, as on earth, intact.
As for me, my ich has hugged
On earth a need for tout confort,
Pleasures such as I have glugged
I'll want hereafter, evermore.
A garden, thus, or fruit, may so
Delight, a flower, a pretty lass
Appeal to us down here below -
To spirits young again, no less.
Friends I'd gather round, likewise,
And be with them, the old, the young,
We'd stammer words of Paradise,
Jubilant, in the German tongue.
Angel and man, when tête-à-tête,
Albeit, dialects compose:
A secret grammar, delicate
Declensions of poppy and the rose.
Glad we are when looks of bliss
We interchange as rhetoric;
We rise to heavenly ecstasies,
No sound, no voice in what we speak.
Self-evidently sound abates,
Voice its every word repeals;
In Glory, no one hesitates,
Intensely infinite one feels.
If Paradise provide, again,
For Senses Five the wherewithal,
Certain it is I shall obtain
A Single Sense embracing all.
Now lighter through the eternal rings
I pass, no matter where I be -
The Word that penetrates them sings
God's artless living melody.
There unimpeded urges burn
With never an end or latterday,
Till face to face with Love we turn
To floating air and drift away.