Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/242

 And the murmurous ocean's tongue Should have melted, soul-possess'd, With the organ's roll together, And the gather'd people's song. Sweep this lying Labour hence! Mighty only in pretence! Stricken inly with decay On its consecration day,— Symbol of your impotence. All the germs of soul you aim By divided toil to maim; For the week's six days ye drag To the deepest deep God's flag, For one only of the seven, Let it flutter forth to heaven!

Lead us, lead us! Tempest lowers! Lead us, and the day is ours!

Do not hear him! Nought he knows Of the Faith a Christian owes!

Ay, thou nam'st the flaw whereby Both the throng, and thou and I, Are beset! To souls alone Faith is possible,—show me one! Show me one that his best treasure Has not inly flung to waste In his fumbling, or his haste! First, the reeling plunge for pleasure To the tabor's juggling strain Till the zest of pleasure's slain; Then, soul-ruins, charr'd and stark,