Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/269

 Is the Maker's spirit fled

[Listening.]

Ha, what song breaks overhead?

[In the sough of the storm.]

Never shalt thou win His spirit; Thou in mortal flesh wast born: Spurn his bidding or revere it; Equally thou art forlorn.

[Repeats the words, and says softly.]

Woe's me, woe; I well may fear it! Stood He not, and saw me pray, Sternly smote my prayer away? All I loved He has demanded, All the ways of light seal'd fast, Made me battle single-handed, And be overthrown at last!

[Louder, above him.]

Worm, thou mayst not win His spirit,— For Death's cup thou hast consumed; Fear His Will, or do not fear it, Equally thy work is doom'd.

[Softly.]

Agnes, Alf, the gladsome life When unrest and pain I knew not— I exchanged for tears and strife, In my own heart plunged the knife,— But the fiend of evil slew not.