Let me not sink and disappear in the depth of languor.
Let not my life be worn out to tatters by penury of waste.
Let not those doubts encompass me,-the dust of distractions.
Let me not pursue many paths to gather many things.
Let me not bend my heart to the yoke of the many.
Let me hold my head high in the courage and pride of being your servant.
THE OARSMEN
Do you hear the tumult of death afar,
The call midst the fire-floods and poisonous clouds -The Captain’s call to the steersman to turn the ship to an unnamed shore,
For that time is over-the stagnant time in the port-Where the same old merchandise is bought and sold in an endless round,
Where dead things drift in the exhaustion and emptiness of truth.
They wake up in sudden fear and ask,
“Comrades, what hour has struck? When shall the dawn begin?”
The clouds have blotted away the stars-Who is there then can see the beckoning finger of the day?
They run out with oars in hand, the beds are emptied, the mother prays, the wife watches by the door; There is a wail of parting that rises to the sky, And there is the Captain’s voice in the dark:
“Come, sailors, for the time in the harbour is over!”
All the black evils in the world have overflowed their banks, Yet, oarsmen, take your places with the blessing of sorrow in your souls!
Whom do you blame, brothers? Bow your heads down!
The sin has been yours and ours.