I complained to my God of my woeful state,
And all the tyranny of nights I bore,
And all the pain that would not cease its sore,
And all the ordeals long that I sustained,
And every treacherous maiden I forgave, restrained,
And every youth devoid of feeling's wave,
And all the mortal lamentation gave,
Till I nearly stumbled into weariness's close,
What profit hath my life from all of those—
My years were lost pursuing the impossible!
I told my God the bitterness of fate,
And all my struggle's burden and its weight.
He said: To Me—take refuge in My shade,
Eternity unmatched is here displayed.
And here is all that any eye desires,
And all toward which the soul's aspiration fires.
And here are wishes that thy heart hath nursed,
And bounty hoped for at the generous first.
And here is all thy bliss of tender kind,
And here thy arts, most precious to the mind!
Ascend, O daughter of the truth, and live
Between bright freshness and perfection's give.
Leave thou the earthly world to wander still
In valleys dark of error's wandering will.
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