O days of life,
Days that are driven swift and wild from the womb! (Plays.)
O days so rife—
Days that are torn of trouble, trod of doom!
(Plays. Michal enters.)
O days of strife—
Days of desire on deserts spread unending,
The burning blue o'erbending,
O days, our peace, our victory is the tomb!
(He plays to a close that dies in anguished silence.)
Saul (rising in tears). David!
David. My lord?
Saul. Thy song is beauteous!
Stilling to sorrow!... Oh, my friend, my son!
David. To me is this? I do not dream? The king
Again is kind and soft his spirit moves?
Saul. To you!
David. How shelter o'er me then will spring
And safety covering!