VI.
On the Voyage.
8,7,8,7,7,7,7,7
In die Segel fanst und linde
de la Motte Fouqué.
| On our sails all soft and sweetly, Yet with bold resistless force, Breathe the winds of heaven, and fleetly Wing us on our watery course; Swift, and swifter, furrowing deep Through the mighty waves, that keep Not a trace where we have been, On we speed to lands unseen! | | Sink thou deeply in our mind, Type of life, most apt and true! Though we leave no track behind, Yet we plough our furrows too, Where, from out a world of bliss, Falls the seed unseen of this, And an unseen distant home Beckons o'er the desert foam. | | 116 Be our voyage, brethren, such That if direst peril came, Wreck and ruin could not touch Ought but this our weary frame; That may gladly sleep, the while Still and blest the soul shall smile, In the eternal peace of Heaven, That our God hath surely given. | | Oh that in that blessed peace Many and many a soul may rest! Oh through us may God increase Soon the number of the blest! Free through us the souls that now 'Neath a bitter bondage bow; Whom yet darkest error binds! Speed, oh speed us on, ye winds! | |