Enough the milk without the wine.
When first the new-born Infant smiled,
’Twas merit infinite, divine,
To cleanse a thousand worlds defiled.
But we must take of both. And how
Could love look on, nor rush to share?
Or hear us moan: “Death’s darkness now:
And Thou, at least, wast never there”?
And so he drank our Marah dry:
Then filled the cup with wine of heaven.
Who would not live—with him to die?
Or not have sinned—when so forgiven?
Lent, 1872.
JANS VON STEUFLE’S DONKEY.
I.
Jans von Steufle was a happy man until he got that donkey. Now, you might think the donkey was left him as a legacy by some dear friend or rich relation, or that Jans found him in the highway some cold wintry night and took him home in pity, or the donkey might have strayed into Jans’ enclosure and refused to go out, but no such thing; Jans bought and paid for all his trouble in good silver coin.
Jans had some comforts, however to compensate: he had a good wife. Some say, “A good wife is a rare thing,” but you never hear that sneer in German-land, for German wives and German children are taught betimes to be good. Jans’ wife kept the house clean and the kettles bright; and made Sauerkraut, [14] and Wurst,[15]and delicious Rahmkäse[16] —ah! it would melt in your mouth—and had always such nicely browned Rinderbraten,[17] and delicate gedämpftes Fleisch,[18] and put vinegar in everything.