Page:Bohemian poems, ancient and modern (Lyra czecho-slovanska).djvu/140



E must suffer ere we learn,’ Golden truth, but hard to prize, When the passions rage and burn, When the torrent fills the eyes.

Men have struggled, men have striven, On their weary pilgrimage, Records of their woes have given, To instruct the coming age;

Yet in vain; experience ever Is by time and suffring bought; All must purchase that which never Cometh to the soul for nought.

Ev’ry man must taste of woe, Ere he can be fit for joy, Only fire, as well we know, Cleanseth gold from base alloy.

Onwards then, though pain and sorrow Close thee in on ev’ry side, There is yet a glorious morrow, That awaits the purified!