Wherefore bends the Just One, bleeding
’Neath the cross’s weight laborious,
While upon his steed the Wicked
Rides all-proudly and victorious?
Wherein lies the fault? It is not
That our God is not almighty?
Or hath he himself offended?—
Such a thought seems wild and flighty.
Thus are we for ever asking,
Till at length our mouths securely
With a clod of earth are fasten’d,—
That is not an answer, surely?
II.
My head by the maiden swarthy but fair
Was press’d ’gainst her bosom with yearning;
But, alas! to grey soon turn’d my hair,
Where had fallen her tears so burning.
She kiss’d me ill, and she kiss’d me lame,
She kiss’d till my eyes were faded;
My spinal marrow dried up became,
By her mouth’s wild sucking pervaded.
My body is now a corpse, wherein
My spirit is fetter’d closely;
’Tis often angry, and makes a din,
And storms and struggles morosely,
O impotent curses! Not even a fly
Can be kill’d by mere execrations;
Submit to thy fate, and patiently try
To bear Heaven’s dispensations.
III.
How slowly time is crawling on,
That serpent terrible and creeping!
While I, alas! all-motionless,
On the same spot am ever weeping.