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## p. 8691 (#307) ###########################################
8691
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK*
**
(1724-1803)
BY KUNO FRANCKE
Twas in 1748, the same year in which Frederick the Great,
in the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, achieved his first political
triumph, that Friedrich Klopstock, in the first three cantos
of his Messias,' sounded that morning call of joyous idealism and
exalted individualism which was to be the dominant note of the best
in all modern German literature. The magic spell which the name
of Klopstock exercised upon all aspiring minds of the middle of the
eighteenth century has been vividly described by Goethe, in Werther's
account of the thunder-storm which he and Lotte observed together.
“In the distance the thunder was dying away; a glorious rain fell
gently upon the land, and the most refreshing perfume arose to us
out of the fullness of the warm air. She stood leaning upon her
elbow; her glance penetrated the distance, she looked heavenward
and upon me; I saw her eyes fill with tears; she laid her hand upon
mine, and said — Klopstock! ! I at once remembered the beautiful ode
Die Frühlingsfeier' (The Spring Festival) which was in her mind,
and lost myself in the torrent of emotions which rushed over me
with this name. ”
On the other hand, Schiller has well expressed the limitations of
Klopstock's genius, when in trying to define his place among modern
poets he says: “His sphere is always the realm of ideas, and he
makes everything lead up to the infinite. One might say that he
robs everything that he touches of its body in order to turn it into
spi rit, whereas other poets seek to clothe the spiritual with a body. ”
It is undoubtedly this lack of plastic power, this inability to create
living, palpable beings, which prevented Klopstock from attaining the
high artistic ideal which his first great effusions seemed to prophesy.
The older he grew, the more he withdrew from the actual world, the
more he surrounded himself with the halo of superhuman experiences,
the more he insisted on describing the indescribable and expressing
the inexpressible; until at last the same man whose first youthful
*A portion of this sketch is drawn from the author's work, (Social Forces
in German Literature,' by the kind permission of its publishers, Messrs. Henry
Holt & Co. of New York.
## p. 8692 (#308) ###########################################
8692
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
utterances had set free mighty forces of popular passion, was intelli-
gible only to a few adepts initiated into the mysteries of his artificial,
esoteric language.
And yet it is easy to see that it was precisely through this exag-
gerated and overstrained spirituality that Klopstock achieved the
greatest of his work. He would never have produced the marvelous
impression upon his contemporaries which he did produce, had he
attempted to present life as it is. That task had been done by the
realistic comedy and novel of the seventeenth century.
What was
needed at Klopstock's time was a higher view of human existence,
the kindling of larger emotions, the pointing out of loftier aims. A
man was needed who should give utterance to that religious idealism,
which, though buried under the ruins of popular independence, was
nevertheless the one vital principle of Protestantism not yet extinct;
a man who, through an exalted conception of nationality, should in-
spire his generation with a new faith in Germany's political future;
a man who, by virtue of his own genuine sympathy with all that is
human in the noblest sense, and through his unwavering belief in the
high destiny of mankind, should usher in a new era of enlightened
cosmopolitanism. It was Klopstock's spirituality which enabled him
to assume this threefold leadership; and the immeasurable services
rendered by him in this capacity to the cause of religion, fatherland,
and humanity, may well make us forget the artistic shortcomings by
which they were accompanied.
Klopstock led German literature from the narrow circle of private
emotions and purposes to which the absolutism of the seventeenth
century had come near confining it, into the broad realm of universal
sympathy. He was the first great freeman since the days of Luther.
He did not, like Haller, content himself with the sight of an inde-
pendent but provincial and primitive life, as afforded by the rural
communities of Switzerland. He did not, like Gellert, turn away from
the oppressed and helpless condition of the German people to a
weakly, exaggerated cultivation of himself. He addressed himself to
the whole nation; nay, to all mankind. And by appealing to all that
is grand and noble; by calling forth those passions and emotions
which link the human to the divine; by awakening the poor down-
trodden souls of men who thus far had known themselves only as
the subjects of princes to the consciousness of their moral and spir-
itual citizenship,- he became the prophet of that invisible republic
which now for nearly a century and a half has been the ideal coun-
terpart in German life of a stern monarchical reality.
From the asthetic point of view, Klopstock is above all a master
of musical expression. His odes — in which he celebrates nature,
friendship, freedom, fatherland -remind us of Richard Wagner in
## p. 8693 (#309) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8693
-
the boldness of their rhythmic effects and in their irresistible appeal
to passionate emotion. Even his great religious epic 'Der Messias )
(The Messiah) is not so much an epic as a high-pitched musical
composition. Reality of events, clearness of motive, naturalness of
character, directness of style, — these are things for which in most
parts of the poem we look in vain. Throughout its twenty cantos
we constantly circle between heaven, hell, and earth, without at
any given moment seeming to know where we are; and instead of
straightforward action we often must be satisfied with a portentous
glance, an effusive prayer, or a mysterious sigh. But these defects
of the Messiah' as an epic poem are offset by an extraordinary
wealth of lyric motives. Indeed, the narrative part of the poem
should be looked upon merely as the recitative element of an ora-
torio, connecting those passages with each other in which the com-
position rises to its height,— the arias and choruses. Nearly every
important speech in the Messiah) is a lyric song, and at least one
entire canto — the twentieth — is given over to choral effects: from
beginning to end this canto is a succession of crowds of jubilant souls
thronging about the Redeemer, as he slowly pursues his triumphal
path through the heavens, until at last he ascends the throne and
sits at the right hand of the Father. It would be hard to imagine
a more impressive finale than this bursting of the universe into a
mighty hymn of praise echoing from star to star, and embracing the
voices of all zones and ages; and it is indeed strange that a poet
who was capable of such visions as these should have been taken to
task by modern critics for not having confined himself more closely
to the representation of actual conditions.
Klopstock was a true liberator. He was the first among modern
German poets who drew his inspiration from the depth of a heart
beating for all humanity. He was the first among them greater than
his works. By putting the stamp of his own wonderful personality
upon everything that he wrote or did,- by lifting himself, his friends,
the objects of his love and veneration, into the sphere of extraor-
dinary spiritual experiences,— he raised the ideals of his age to a
higher pitch; and although his memory has been dimmed through the
greater men who came after him, the note struck by him still vibrates
in the finest chords of the life of to-day.
Kunofrance
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock was born at
Quedlinburg on July 2d, 1724. During his school-days at Schulpforta
he conceived the plan of the Messiah. ' The first three cantos were
## p. 8694 (#310) ###########################################
8694
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
published anonymously during his university career at Leipzig in
1748, and made a deep impression upon Germany. Frederick V. of
Denmark invited him to Copenhagen and offered him a pension to
enable him to finish the poem. He accepted. The last cantos ap-
peared in 1773 With Klopstock a new era in German verse began,
for he abandoned the formal mechanical rhyming for the rhythmic
swing of classic measures. It is in his odes that he reaches the
height of his poetic genius. He died in Ottensee near Hamburg, on
March 14th, 1803.
THE ROSE-WREATH
I
FOUND her by the shady rill;
I bound her with a wreath of rose:
She felt it not, but slumbered still.
I looked on her; and on the spot
My life with hers did blend and close:
I felt it, but I knew it not.
Some lisping, broken words I spoke,
And rustled light the wreath of rose;
Then from her slumber she awoke.
She looked on me; and from that hour
Her life with mine did blend and close;
And round us it was Eden's bower.
THE SUMMER NIGHT
W"
HEN o'er the woods that sleep below,
The moonbeam pours her gentle light,
And odors of the lindens flow
On the cool airs of night, -
Thoughts overshade me of the tomb,
Where my beloved rest. I see
In the deep forest naught but gloom;
No blossom breathes to me.
Such nights, ye dead, with you I passed !
How cool and odorous streamed the air!
The moonbeam then, so gently cast,
Made Nature's self more fair!
## p. 8695 (#311) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8695
HERMANN AND THUSNELDA
H^
A! THERE comes he, with sweat, with blood of Romans,
And with dust of the fight all stained! Oh, never
Saw I Hermann so lovely!
Never such fire in his eyes!
Come! I tremble for joy; hand me the Eagle
And the red, dripping sword! come, breathe, and rest thee;
Rest thee here in my bosom;
Rest from the terrible fight!
Rest thee, while from thy brow I wipe the big drops,
And the blood from thy cheek! — that cheek, how glowing!
Hermann! Hermann! Thusnelda
Never so loved thee before !
No, not then, when thou first, in old oak shadows,
With that manly brown arm didst wildly grasp me!
Spell-bound I read in thy look
That immortality then
Which thou now hast won. Tell to the forests,
Great Augustus, with trembling, amidst his gods now,
Drinks his nectar; for Hermann,
Hermann immortal is found!
“Wherefore curl'st thou my hair? Lies not our father
Cold and silent in death? Oh, had Augustus
Only headed his army,-
He should lie bloodier there ! »
Let me lift up thy hair; 'tis sinking, Hermann:
Proudly thy locks should curl above the crown now!
Sigmar is with the immortals!
Follow, and mourn him no more!
THE TWO MUSES
I
SAW — Oh, tell me, saw I what now takes place?
Beheld I the future ? —I saw the muse of Germany,
Side by side with her of Britain,
Fly with hot speed to the goals of coronation.
Two goals, dimly gleaming, far as the eye could reach,
Bounded the race-ground. O'er one in majesty
## p. 8696 (#312) ###########################################
8696
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
Oaks cast their shadows; near the other
Palm-trees were waving in evening splendors.
At home in contest, stepped she of Albion
Out on the arena, - proudly as when of old
So matched with Grecian muse and Roman,
She trod the hot sand for the prize of glory.
There stood the youthful, trembling combatant;
With inanly emotion she trembled, and fiery
Flaming blushes, vi ory's omens,
Streamed o'er her cheek, and her golden hair flew.
E'en now, with labor, fast in her heaving breast
She holds the breath down; bent on the goal she hangs;
She seems to see the herald's trumpet
Rise to his lips,- and her drunken eye swims.
Proud of her rival, prouder of herself, then
Spake the lofty Britoness, and measured with noble mien
Thee, Thuiscona:– “Yes, by the Bards, I
Grew up with thee in the ancient oak grove.
“But Fame had told me thou wert not living now.
O Muse, forgive me, if thou immortal art,
Forgive, that now so late I learn it;
But at the goal must it yet be taught me!
“Lo, there it stands! But mark'st thou the crowned one
So far beyond it ? Maiden, this proud reserve —
This self-command — this glance of fire
Downward to earth cast -- I know its meaning.
« Yet weigh, one moment, ere, big with danger, sounds
Yon herald's trumpet! Was it not I who once
Measured the ground with her of Thermopylæ,
And with the famed of the seven hills too ? ”
She spake. The herald drew nearer, and with him came
Swift the decisive moment. — "I love thee! »
With flaming look quick spake Teutona :
“Britoness, yea, I do wildly love thee;
<< Yet more, far more I love immortality
And yonder palms! Then touch, if thy genius
!
So wills it, touch them first; yet the moment
When thou shalt seize it, the crown is mine too.
## p. 8697 (#313) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8697
And, oh, how I tremble! O ye immortals,
Haply I may reach the proud goal before thee.
Then, oh, then may I feel thy hot breath
Stir my loose locks as thou pantest after. ”
»
The trumpet rang. They flew as on eagles' wings.
Far along the race-ground boiled up the clouds of dust.
I looked: beyond the oak yet thicker
Rolled the dark mass, and my eye had lost them.
PROPHECY
ROM the charger's glances, the hoof's uplifting,
F, ,
The bards foretold fate; I too see,
And my eye pierces the future.
Will it gall forever? Thy yoke, Germania,
Soon it will fall: one more century yet,
And then it is done; then the rule
Of the sword yields to the reason.
For with curving neck through the forest rushed he,
Bounded along, tossed his mane to the wind, -
The steed,- as an omen, with scorn
For the storm's rage and the stream's rage.
On the meadow stood he, and stamped and neighing
Lifted his eyes; careless grazed he, and proud,
Nor looked on the rider who lay
In his blood, dead by the merestone.
It is not forever! Thy yoke, Germania,
Soon it will fall: one more century yet,
And then it is done; then the rule
Of the sword yields to the reason.
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature) by Francis J.
Lange
## p. 8698 (#314) ###########################################
8698
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
FROM "THE SPRING FESTIVAL)
Wur
that I might praise thee, O Lord, as my soul thirsts!
Ever more gloriously dost thou reveal thyself!
Ever darker grows the night around thee
And more replete with blessings.
Do ye see the witness of his presence, the sudden flash ?
Do ye hear Jehovali's thunder ?
Hear ye his voice,
The convulsing thunder of the Lord ?
Lord! Lord! God!
Merciful and kind!
Adored and praised
Be thy glorious name!
And the blasts of the tempest ? They carry the thunder!
How they roar! How they surge through the forest with resounding
waves!
And now they are silent! Slowly wanders
The sombre cloud.
Do ye see the new witness of his presence, the winged flash ?
Hear ye high in the clouds the thunder of the Lord ?
He shouts — Jehovah! Jehovah!
And the shattered woods reek.
But not our hut!
Our Father commanded
His destroyer
To pass by our hut!
But the kind and copious rain
Resounds across the fields.
The thirsting earth is refreshed
And heaven unburdened of its blessings.
And lo! Jehovah comes no more in the tempest!
In the softly whispering gentle breezes
Jehovah comes,
And beneath Him bends the bow of peace.
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature) by Francis J.
Lange
## p. 8699 (#315) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8699
TO YOUNG
D'
IE, aged prophet! Lo, thy crown of palms
Has long been springing, and the tear of joy
Quivers on angel-lids
Astart to welcome thee!
Why linger? Hast thou not already built
Above the clouds thy lasting monument ?
Over thy Night Thoughts, too,
The pale free-thinkers watch,
And feel there's prophecy amid the song
When of the dead-awakening trump it speaks,
Of coming final doom
And the wise will of Heaven.
Die! Thou hast taught me that the name of death
Is to the just a glorious sound of joy!
But be my teacher still;
Become my genius there!
Translation of W. Taylor.
MY RECOVERY
ECOVERY,
R Though not for immortality designed, —
The Lord of life and death
Sent thee from heaven to me!
Had I not heard thy gentle tread approach,
Not heard the whisper of thy welcome voice,
Death had with iron foot
My chilly forehead pressed.
'Tis true, I then had wandered where the earths
Roll around suns; had strayed along the path
Where the maned comet soars
Beyond the armèd eye;
And with the rapturous, eager greet had hailed
The inmates of those earths and of those suns;
Had hailed the countless host
That throng the comet's disk;
Had asked the novice questions, and obtained
Such answers as a sage vouchsafes to youth;
Had learned in hours far more
Than ages here unfold !
## p. 8700 (#316) ###########################################
8700
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
-
But I had then not ended here below
What, in the enterprising bloom of life,
Fate with no light behest
Required me to begin.
Recovery,- daughter of Creation too,
Though not for immortality designed, -
The Lord of life and death
Sent thee from heaven to me!
Translation of W. Taylor.
THE CHOIRS
D
EAR dream which I must ne'er behold fulfilled,
Thou beamy form, more fair than orient day,
Float back, and hover yet
Before my swimming sight!
Do they wear crowns in vain, that they forbear
To realize the heavenly portraiture ?
Shall marble hearse them all,
Ere the bright change be wrought?
Hail, chosen ruler of a freer world!
For thee shall bloom the never-fading song,
Who bidd'st it be,- to thee
Religion's honors rise.
Yes! could the grave allow, of thee I'd sing:
For once would inspiration string the lyre, -
The streaming tide of joy,
My pledge for loftier verse.
Great is thy deed, my wish. He has not known
What 'tis to melt in bliss, who never felt
Devotion's raptures rise
On sacred Music's wing;
Ne'er sweetly trembled, when adoring choirs
Mingle their hallowed songs of solemn praise,
And at each awful pause
The unseen choirs above.
Long float around my forehead, blissful dream!
I hear a Christian people hymn their God,
And thousands kneel at once,
Jehovah, Lord, to thee!
## p. 8701 (#317) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8701
The people sing their Savior, sing the Son;
Their simple song according with the heart,
Yet lofty, such as lifts
The aspiring soul from earth.
On the raised eyelash, on the burning cheek,
The young tear quivers; for they view the goal,
Where shines the golden crown,
Where angels wave the palm.
ong
Hush! the clear song wells forth. Now flows
Music, as if poured artless from the breast;
For so the Master willed
To lead its channeled course.
Deep, strong, it seizes on the swelling heart,
Scorning what knows not to call down the tear,
Or shroud the soul in gloom
Or steep in holy awe.
Borne on the deep, slow sounds, a holy awe
Descends. Alternate voices sweep the dome,
Then blend their choral force, -
The theme, Impending Doom;
Or the triumphal Hail to Him who rose,
While all the host of heaven o'er Sion's hill
Hovered, and praising saw
Ascend the Lord of Life.
One voice alone, one harp alone, begins;
But soon joins in the ever fuller choir.
The people quake. They feel
A glow of heavenly fire.
Joy, joy! they scarce support it. Rolls aloud
The organ's thunder, - now more loud and more,-
And to the shout of all
The temple trembles too.
Enough! I sink! The wave of people bows
Before the altar,— bows the front to earth;
They taste the hallowed cup,
Devoutly, deeply, still.
One day, when rest my bones beside a fane,
Where thus assembled worshipers adore,
## p. 8702 (#318) ###########################################
8702
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
The conscious grave shall heave,
Its flowerets sweeter bloom;
And on the morn that from the rock He sprang,
When panting Praise pursues his way,
I'll hear — He rose again
Vibrating through the tomb.
Translation of W. Taylor.
FROM THE MESSIAH)
SY
(
EVEN times the thunder's stroke had rent the veil,
When now the voice of God in gentle tone
Was heard descending: “God is Love,” it spoke;
“Love, ere the worlds or their inhabitants
To life were called. In the accomplishment
Of this, my most mysterious, highest act,
Love am I still. Angels, ye shall behold
The death of earth's great Judge, the eternal Son;
And ye shall learn to know the Deity,
With adoration new to invoke his name.
Should not his arm uphold ye, at the sight
Of that dread day in terror ye would fade;
For finite are your forms! ” The voice now ceased.
Their holy hands the admiring angels clasped
In silent awe. A sign the Almighty made,
And in the face divine, Eloa read
The mandate given. To the celestial host
He cried, “Lift up your eyes to the Most High,
Ye chosen, favored children! Ye have longed
(God is your witness) to behold this day
Of his Messiah, this atoning day!
Shout, then, ye cherubim! behold your God;
The First and Last, the great Jehovah, deigns
To meet your wish. Yon seraph, messenger
From the eternal Son on your behalf,
Is to the altar sent. Had ye not been
Permitted thus to view the wondrous work
Of man's redemption, secret it had passed
In solitary, silent mystery.
But now, while sons of earth shall joyful sing
This day throughout eternity, our voice
In shouts shall join their chorus.
With glad eye
## p. 8703 (#319) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8703
Of piercing vision shall we contemplate
This mystery of atonement; clearer far
Shall we perceive it than the weeping band,
Who, though in error clouded, faithful still
Surround their Savior. Ah, what shall befall
His hardened persecutors! From life's book
Their names have long been blotted. Light divine
Jehovah grants alone to his redeemed;
No more with tears shall they behold the blood
For their atonement shed, but see its stream
Merge in the ocean of immortal life.
Oh, then in the soft lap of peace consoled,
The festival of light, and endless rest,
Triumphant shall they celebrate! Ye hosts
Of seraphim, and ye blest ransomed souls
Of righteous patriarchs, the jubilee,
The Sabbath of eternity, draws near!
Race after race of man shall thronging join
Your happy numbers, till, the reckoning filled,
The final doom pronounced, with glorious forms
All shall anew be clothed, and jointly taste
One universal bliss! Now, angels, haste!
Bid the seraphic guardians, who by God
To rule the spheres are stationed, straight prepare
To solemnize the great mysterious Day!
Ye patriarchs, from whom the Savior draws
His mortal lineage, to that sun repair
Which lights redemption's theatre! From thence
Ye may your great Redeemer view! A day
Jehovah sanctifies; a holy day
Greater than that which by your festal songs,
Ye mighty seraphim, was solemnized,
When, from creation pausing, God proclaimed
His primal Sabbath. Then, full well ye know,
Angelic powers, how bright young Nature smiled,
How fresh and lovely; how the morning stars,
With you, to their Creator homage paid.
Behold, a greater work the eternal Son
Will soon accomplish! Haste then, angels, haste!
Proclaim it through creation! Lo, the day
Of the Messiah's free obedience comes,
The Sabbath of the eternal covenant!
Eloa ceased. All Heaven in silence heard,
Their eyes uplifted toward the sanctuary.
## p. 8704 (#320) ###########################################
8704
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
To Gabriel then a sign the Almighty made,
And swift the seraph to the throne advanced,
And secret charge received to bear behest
To Uriel, the sun's regent, and to those
Who o'er the earth bear rule, of high import,
Touching the Savior's death. Their golden seats
Meantime the high seraphic powers now left,
By Gabriel followed. Ere he yet approached
The mystic altar of the earth, his ear
Caught the deep murmured sighs, which low were
breathed,
In fervent wishes for the expected hour
Of man's salvation. There distinct arose
The voice of Adam, who through ages wept
His hapless fall. This was the altar seen
By him in Patmos, the high-favored seer
Of the new covenant: thence he heard the voice
Of martyred saints descend, whose plaintive cries
Mourned the delay of vengeance. Toward this spot
Gabriel advanced; when swift the first of men,
Eager to meet the coming seraph, flew.
A form impalpable of lustre clear
Enveloped Adam's spirit, beautiful
As that fair thought which the creative mind
In model imaged for the form of Man,
When, from the sacred earth of Paradise,
Fresh from his Maker's hand, youthful he sprung.
With radiant smile, which o'er his beaming brow
Celestial light diffused, Adam drew near,
And earnest spoke. «Hail, gracious messenger!
While I thy lofty mission heard, my soul
In joy was rapt. May I then view the form
Of manhood by the Savior worn, that form
Of mercy, in whose meek disguise he deigns
My fallen race to save! Show me the trace,
O seraph, of my Savior's earthly path:
My eye with awe shall view the distant track.
But may the first of sinners tread the spot
Whence the Messiah raised his face to heaven
And swore to ransom man ? Maternal earth,
How do I sigh once more to visit thee!
I, thy first habitant! Thy barren fields
By God's dread curse defaced, where now in garb
Of frail mortality, such earthly frame
## p. 8705 (#321) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8705
As in the dust I left, the Savior walks,
Would lovelier meet mine eyes than thy bright plains,
Thou long-lost Paradise! ) Adam here paused.
To whom the seraph: “I will speak thy wish
To the Redeemer: should his will divine
Grant thy petition, he will summon thee
His lowliest humiliation to behold. ”
Now had the angelic host all quitted heaven,
Spreading to distant spheres their separate flight.
Gabriel alone descended to the earth,
Which by the neighboring stars, as each rolled by
Its splendid orb, was hailed with joyful shouts.
The salutations glad reached Gabriel's ear
In silver tones:– “Queen of the scattered worlds!
Object of universal gaze! Bright spot,
Again selected for the theatre
Of God's high presence! Blest spectatress thou
Of his Messiah's work of mystery! ”
Thus sung the spheres; and through the concave vast
Angelic voices echoed back the sounds.
Gabriel exulting heard, and swift in flight
Reached earth's dim surface. O'er her silent vales
Refreshing coolness and deep slumber hung
Yet undisturbed; dark clouds of mist still lay
Heaped heavily upon her mountain-tops.
Through the surrounding gloom Gabriel advanced
In search of the Redeemer. Deep within
A narrow cleft which rent the forked height
Of sacred Olivet, oppressed by thought
The Savior sleeping lay: a jutting rock
His resting-place. With reverence Gabriel viewed
His tranquil slumber, and in wonder gazed
On that hid majesty which man's frail form,
By union with the Godhead, had acquired.
Still on the Savior's face the traces beamed
Of grace and love; the smile of mercy there
Still lingered visible; still in his eye
A tear of pity hung. But faintly showed
Those outward tokens of his soul, now sunk
In sleep profound. So lies the blooming earth
In eve's soft twilight veiled; her beauteous face,
Scarce recognized, so meets the inquiring eye
Of some close-hovering seraph, while aloft
In the yet lonely sky, the evening star
XV-545
## p. 8706 (#322) ###########################################
8706
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
Shoots her pale radiance, calling from his bower
The contemplative sage. After long pause,
Gabriel thus softly cried :-“O Thou, whose eye
Omniscient searches heaven! who hear'st my words,
Though wrapped in sleep thy mortal body lies!
I have fulfilled thy mission. While my course
Returning I pursued, a fervent prayer
Adam implored me to convey. Thy face,
O gracious Savior, he on earth would see!
Now must I hasten, by Jehovah sent
On glorious ministration. Be ye hushed,
All living creatures! Every moment's space
Of this swift-flying time, while here yet lies
The world's Creator, dearer must ye deem
Than ages passed in duteous zeal for man.
Be still, ye whispering winds, as o'er this hill
Of lonely graves ye sweep, or sighing breathe
Your gentlest melodies! Descend, ye clouds,
And o'er these shades drop coolness and repose,
Deep and refreshing! Wave not your dark heads,
Ye tufted cedars! Cease, ye rustling groves,
While your Creator sleeps! » The seraph's voice
In whispers low now sunk; and swift he flew
To join th' assembled watchers, who, with him
(The faithful ministers of God's high will)
Governed with delegated rule the earth.
Thither he hastened to proclaim the approach
Of man's atonement by his Savior paid.
## p. 8707 (#323) ###########################################
8707
THE KORAN
BY HENRY PRESERVED SMITH
K
JORAN, the well-known sacred book of the Mohammedans. The
word is variously written Coran, Kur'an, Qur'ân, or with
the article, Alcoran, Al-Koran, El-Qur'ân. It is derived
from a word meaning to chant, to recite, or to read aloud, especially
as an act of Divine service. Mohammed borrowed the word and the
idea from the preceding revealed religions, both of which made the
liturgical reading of their Scriptures a prominent part of public
worship. A single composition or chapter is called a Koran (x. 16),
and the whole body of revelations is the Koran. In one instance
(xv. 91) the word Koran is made to cover the whole body of revealed
books, including the Old and New Testaments as well as the book of
Mohammed.
The Koran is perhaps the most widely read book in the world.
It is the text-book in all Mohammedan schools. All Moslems know
large parts of it by heart. Devout Moslems read it through once a
month. Portions of it are recited in the five daily prayers, and the
recitation of the whole book is a meritorious work frequently per-
formed at solemn or festival anniversaries. What Arabic science
there is, has the Koran as its object; and the ambition of every
devout Moslem student is to apprehend the divine philosophy which
it is supposed to contain.
There is no reasonable doubt that the Koran is the work of Mo-
hammed. Its parts were published by him at intervals during the
more than twenty years of his activity as prophet. It is not clear
that all were immediately put on record, but the Prophet encouraged
his followers to commit them to heart. Some, however, were written
down on whatever material came to hand; for we are told that when
a collection of the whole was made, the parts were found “on leaves
of the palm, on white stones and the shoulder-blades of sheep and
camels, and in the breasts of men. ” This essential work of collec-
tion was done soon after the Prophet's death, by his amanuensis,
Zaid Ibn Thabit, at the command of the Caliph Abu Bekr. A few
years later, as divergent copies were circulated, the Caliph Othman
ordered a standard text to be made by three learned men; and when
this was completed, other copies were made to conform to it. This
received text has been transmitted without substantial variation to our
## p. 8708 (#324) ###########################################
8708
THE KORAN
own time, and probably represents correctly the work of Mohammed.
No insinuation against its accuracy was ever uttered by the surviving
comrades of the Prophet.
The Koran consists of chapters, each of which is called a Sura.
They vary in length from a single line to many pages. * There is
reason to think that the longer ones are made by putting together
compositions originally published at different times. In these chap-
ters, unity of thought or plan is difficult to discover.
The only
principle of arrangement for the book as a whole was to put the
longest Suras first and the shortest last: this from the second Sura
on,— the first place was given to the brief prayer called the Fatiha.
Mohammed disclaimed the title of poet. His earliest compositions,
however, have a certain rhythmic form; the verses being short, with
three or four accented syllables. All the verses of a single revelation
rhyme, and a change in the rhyme indicates a transition to a new
composition. The later chapters are also in rhyme; but as the verses
are much longer, the poetic effect is lost.
The fragmentary character of the Suras, and the lack of plan in
the arrangement of the book as a whole, throw great obstacles in the
way of the reader. Moreover, as is the case in many early books,
much is only obscurely expressed because the author expected to sup-
ply something by his own action in delivery. It is of the first import-
ance, therefore, to bring the various revelations into connection with
the life of Mohammed. Some help is given us here by the Tradi-
tions; but for the most part we are dependent on internal evidence.
It is evident at the first glance that the shorter Suras are rhapsodic
in character; gushes of emotion, coming from a man under religious
excitement. The longer compositions, on the other hand, are prosaic,
the result of reflection, frequently commonplace or trivial. With this
general criterion, and with the help of tradition, we can separate
roughly three periods of composition.
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1761
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Date, le ris, his periodic Tabor k filt: si ti.
artistic ini? warhi is for sî çercat effisies sperto ! " ? ! ? ! ";.
i hea TW, ? more like it crew me, I'rish Waris
Temirt. 19"; } linistit oli theo 5:1111 ott 12:13
hit sind. Op de seriti s time! ! ,'
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bilan vi thische ish is a 3 fin; . .
life 1. c. linatione, putut kilpert. . . !
Hill Cus, ut Ver Yr.
## p. 8690 (#306) ###########################################
## p. 8691 (#307) ###########################################
8691
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK*
**
(1724-1803)
BY KUNO FRANCKE
Twas in 1748, the same year in which Frederick the Great,
in the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, achieved his first political
triumph, that Friedrich Klopstock, in the first three cantos
of his Messias,' sounded that morning call of joyous idealism and
exalted individualism which was to be the dominant note of the best
in all modern German literature. The magic spell which the name
of Klopstock exercised upon all aspiring minds of the middle of the
eighteenth century has been vividly described by Goethe, in Werther's
account of the thunder-storm which he and Lotte observed together.
“In the distance the thunder was dying away; a glorious rain fell
gently upon the land, and the most refreshing perfume arose to us
out of the fullness of the warm air. She stood leaning upon her
elbow; her glance penetrated the distance, she looked heavenward
and upon me; I saw her eyes fill with tears; she laid her hand upon
mine, and said — Klopstock! ! I at once remembered the beautiful ode
Die Frühlingsfeier' (The Spring Festival) which was in her mind,
and lost myself in the torrent of emotions which rushed over me
with this name. ”
On the other hand, Schiller has well expressed the limitations of
Klopstock's genius, when in trying to define his place among modern
poets he says: “His sphere is always the realm of ideas, and he
makes everything lead up to the infinite. One might say that he
robs everything that he touches of its body in order to turn it into
spi rit, whereas other poets seek to clothe the spiritual with a body. ”
It is undoubtedly this lack of plastic power, this inability to create
living, palpable beings, which prevented Klopstock from attaining the
high artistic ideal which his first great effusions seemed to prophesy.
The older he grew, the more he withdrew from the actual world, the
more he surrounded himself with the halo of superhuman experiences,
the more he insisted on describing the indescribable and expressing
the inexpressible; until at last the same man whose first youthful
*A portion of this sketch is drawn from the author's work, (Social Forces
in German Literature,' by the kind permission of its publishers, Messrs. Henry
Holt & Co. of New York.
## p. 8692 (#308) ###########################################
8692
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
utterances had set free mighty forces of popular passion, was intelli-
gible only to a few adepts initiated into the mysteries of his artificial,
esoteric language.
And yet it is easy to see that it was precisely through this exag-
gerated and overstrained spirituality that Klopstock achieved the
greatest of his work. He would never have produced the marvelous
impression upon his contemporaries which he did produce, had he
attempted to present life as it is. That task had been done by the
realistic comedy and novel of the seventeenth century.
What was
needed at Klopstock's time was a higher view of human existence,
the kindling of larger emotions, the pointing out of loftier aims. A
man was needed who should give utterance to that religious idealism,
which, though buried under the ruins of popular independence, was
nevertheless the one vital principle of Protestantism not yet extinct;
a man who, through an exalted conception of nationality, should in-
spire his generation with a new faith in Germany's political future;
a man who, by virtue of his own genuine sympathy with all that is
human in the noblest sense, and through his unwavering belief in the
high destiny of mankind, should usher in a new era of enlightened
cosmopolitanism. It was Klopstock's spirituality which enabled him
to assume this threefold leadership; and the immeasurable services
rendered by him in this capacity to the cause of religion, fatherland,
and humanity, may well make us forget the artistic shortcomings by
which they were accompanied.
Klopstock led German literature from the narrow circle of private
emotions and purposes to which the absolutism of the seventeenth
century had come near confining it, into the broad realm of universal
sympathy. He was the first great freeman since the days of Luther.
He did not, like Haller, content himself with the sight of an inde-
pendent but provincial and primitive life, as afforded by the rural
communities of Switzerland. He did not, like Gellert, turn away from
the oppressed and helpless condition of the German people to a
weakly, exaggerated cultivation of himself. He addressed himself to
the whole nation; nay, to all mankind. And by appealing to all that
is grand and noble; by calling forth those passions and emotions
which link the human to the divine; by awakening the poor down-
trodden souls of men who thus far had known themselves only as
the subjects of princes to the consciousness of their moral and spir-
itual citizenship,- he became the prophet of that invisible republic
which now for nearly a century and a half has been the ideal coun-
terpart in German life of a stern monarchical reality.
From the asthetic point of view, Klopstock is above all a master
of musical expression. His odes — in which he celebrates nature,
friendship, freedom, fatherland -remind us of Richard Wagner in
## p. 8693 (#309) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8693
-
the boldness of their rhythmic effects and in their irresistible appeal
to passionate emotion. Even his great religious epic 'Der Messias )
(The Messiah) is not so much an epic as a high-pitched musical
composition. Reality of events, clearness of motive, naturalness of
character, directness of style, — these are things for which in most
parts of the poem we look in vain. Throughout its twenty cantos
we constantly circle between heaven, hell, and earth, without at
any given moment seeming to know where we are; and instead of
straightforward action we often must be satisfied with a portentous
glance, an effusive prayer, or a mysterious sigh. But these defects
of the Messiah' as an epic poem are offset by an extraordinary
wealth of lyric motives. Indeed, the narrative part of the poem
should be looked upon merely as the recitative element of an ora-
torio, connecting those passages with each other in which the com-
position rises to its height,— the arias and choruses. Nearly every
important speech in the Messiah) is a lyric song, and at least one
entire canto — the twentieth — is given over to choral effects: from
beginning to end this canto is a succession of crowds of jubilant souls
thronging about the Redeemer, as he slowly pursues his triumphal
path through the heavens, until at last he ascends the throne and
sits at the right hand of the Father. It would be hard to imagine
a more impressive finale than this bursting of the universe into a
mighty hymn of praise echoing from star to star, and embracing the
voices of all zones and ages; and it is indeed strange that a poet
who was capable of such visions as these should have been taken to
task by modern critics for not having confined himself more closely
to the representation of actual conditions.
Klopstock was a true liberator. He was the first among modern
German poets who drew his inspiration from the depth of a heart
beating for all humanity. He was the first among them greater than
his works. By putting the stamp of his own wonderful personality
upon everything that he wrote or did,- by lifting himself, his friends,
the objects of his love and veneration, into the sphere of extraor-
dinary spiritual experiences,— he raised the ideals of his age to a
higher pitch; and although his memory has been dimmed through the
greater men who came after him, the note struck by him still vibrates
in the finest chords of the life of to-day.
Kunofrance
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock was born at
Quedlinburg on July 2d, 1724. During his school-days at Schulpforta
he conceived the plan of the Messiah. ' The first three cantos were
## p. 8694 (#310) ###########################################
8694
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
published anonymously during his university career at Leipzig in
1748, and made a deep impression upon Germany. Frederick V. of
Denmark invited him to Copenhagen and offered him a pension to
enable him to finish the poem. He accepted. The last cantos ap-
peared in 1773 With Klopstock a new era in German verse began,
for he abandoned the formal mechanical rhyming for the rhythmic
swing of classic measures. It is in his odes that he reaches the
height of his poetic genius. He died in Ottensee near Hamburg, on
March 14th, 1803.
THE ROSE-WREATH
I
FOUND her by the shady rill;
I bound her with a wreath of rose:
She felt it not, but slumbered still.
I looked on her; and on the spot
My life with hers did blend and close:
I felt it, but I knew it not.
Some lisping, broken words I spoke,
And rustled light the wreath of rose;
Then from her slumber she awoke.
She looked on me; and from that hour
Her life with mine did blend and close;
And round us it was Eden's bower.
THE SUMMER NIGHT
W"
HEN o'er the woods that sleep below,
The moonbeam pours her gentle light,
And odors of the lindens flow
On the cool airs of night, -
Thoughts overshade me of the tomb,
Where my beloved rest. I see
In the deep forest naught but gloom;
No blossom breathes to me.
Such nights, ye dead, with you I passed !
How cool and odorous streamed the air!
The moonbeam then, so gently cast,
Made Nature's self more fair!
## p. 8695 (#311) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8695
HERMANN AND THUSNELDA
H^
A! THERE comes he, with sweat, with blood of Romans,
And with dust of the fight all stained! Oh, never
Saw I Hermann so lovely!
Never such fire in his eyes!
Come! I tremble for joy; hand me the Eagle
And the red, dripping sword! come, breathe, and rest thee;
Rest thee here in my bosom;
Rest from the terrible fight!
Rest thee, while from thy brow I wipe the big drops,
And the blood from thy cheek! — that cheek, how glowing!
Hermann! Hermann! Thusnelda
Never so loved thee before !
No, not then, when thou first, in old oak shadows,
With that manly brown arm didst wildly grasp me!
Spell-bound I read in thy look
That immortality then
Which thou now hast won. Tell to the forests,
Great Augustus, with trembling, amidst his gods now,
Drinks his nectar; for Hermann,
Hermann immortal is found!
“Wherefore curl'st thou my hair? Lies not our father
Cold and silent in death? Oh, had Augustus
Only headed his army,-
He should lie bloodier there ! »
Let me lift up thy hair; 'tis sinking, Hermann:
Proudly thy locks should curl above the crown now!
Sigmar is with the immortals!
Follow, and mourn him no more!
THE TWO MUSES
I
SAW — Oh, tell me, saw I what now takes place?
Beheld I the future ? —I saw the muse of Germany,
Side by side with her of Britain,
Fly with hot speed to the goals of coronation.
Two goals, dimly gleaming, far as the eye could reach,
Bounded the race-ground. O'er one in majesty
## p. 8696 (#312) ###########################################
8696
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
Oaks cast their shadows; near the other
Palm-trees were waving in evening splendors.
At home in contest, stepped she of Albion
Out on the arena, - proudly as when of old
So matched with Grecian muse and Roman,
She trod the hot sand for the prize of glory.
There stood the youthful, trembling combatant;
With inanly emotion she trembled, and fiery
Flaming blushes, vi ory's omens,
Streamed o'er her cheek, and her golden hair flew.
E'en now, with labor, fast in her heaving breast
She holds the breath down; bent on the goal she hangs;
She seems to see the herald's trumpet
Rise to his lips,- and her drunken eye swims.
Proud of her rival, prouder of herself, then
Spake the lofty Britoness, and measured with noble mien
Thee, Thuiscona:– “Yes, by the Bards, I
Grew up with thee in the ancient oak grove.
“But Fame had told me thou wert not living now.
O Muse, forgive me, if thou immortal art,
Forgive, that now so late I learn it;
But at the goal must it yet be taught me!
“Lo, there it stands! But mark'st thou the crowned one
So far beyond it ? Maiden, this proud reserve —
This self-command — this glance of fire
Downward to earth cast -- I know its meaning.
« Yet weigh, one moment, ere, big with danger, sounds
Yon herald's trumpet! Was it not I who once
Measured the ground with her of Thermopylæ,
And with the famed of the seven hills too ? ”
She spake. The herald drew nearer, and with him came
Swift the decisive moment. — "I love thee! »
With flaming look quick spake Teutona :
“Britoness, yea, I do wildly love thee;
<< Yet more, far more I love immortality
And yonder palms! Then touch, if thy genius
!
So wills it, touch them first; yet the moment
When thou shalt seize it, the crown is mine too.
## p. 8697 (#313) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8697
And, oh, how I tremble! O ye immortals,
Haply I may reach the proud goal before thee.
Then, oh, then may I feel thy hot breath
Stir my loose locks as thou pantest after. ”
»
The trumpet rang. They flew as on eagles' wings.
Far along the race-ground boiled up the clouds of dust.
I looked: beyond the oak yet thicker
Rolled the dark mass, and my eye had lost them.
PROPHECY
ROM the charger's glances, the hoof's uplifting,
F, ,
The bards foretold fate; I too see,
And my eye pierces the future.
Will it gall forever? Thy yoke, Germania,
Soon it will fall: one more century yet,
And then it is done; then the rule
Of the sword yields to the reason.
For with curving neck through the forest rushed he,
Bounded along, tossed his mane to the wind, -
The steed,- as an omen, with scorn
For the storm's rage and the stream's rage.
On the meadow stood he, and stamped and neighing
Lifted his eyes; careless grazed he, and proud,
Nor looked on the rider who lay
In his blood, dead by the merestone.
It is not forever! Thy yoke, Germania,
Soon it will fall: one more century yet,
And then it is done; then the rule
Of the sword yields to the reason.
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature) by Francis J.
Lange
## p. 8698 (#314) ###########################################
8698
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
FROM "THE SPRING FESTIVAL)
Wur
that I might praise thee, O Lord, as my soul thirsts!
Ever more gloriously dost thou reveal thyself!
Ever darker grows the night around thee
And more replete with blessings.
Do ye see the witness of his presence, the sudden flash ?
Do ye hear Jehovali's thunder ?
Hear ye his voice,
The convulsing thunder of the Lord ?
Lord! Lord! God!
Merciful and kind!
Adored and praised
Be thy glorious name!
And the blasts of the tempest ? They carry the thunder!
How they roar! How they surge through the forest with resounding
waves!
And now they are silent! Slowly wanders
The sombre cloud.
Do ye see the new witness of his presence, the winged flash ?
Hear ye high in the clouds the thunder of the Lord ?
He shouts — Jehovah! Jehovah!
And the shattered woods reek.
But not our hut!
Our Father commanded
His destroyer
To pass by our hut!
But the kind and copious rain
Resounds across the fields.
The thirsting earth is refreshed
And heaven unburdened of its blessings.
And lo! Jehovah comes no more in the tempest!
In the softly whispering gentle breezes
Jehovah comes,
And beneath Him bends the bow of peace.
Translated for (A Library of the World's Best Literature) by Francis J.
Lange
## p. 8699 (#315) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8699
TO YOUNG
D'
IE, aged prophet! Lo, thy crown of palms
Has long been springing, and the tear of joy
Quivers on angel-lids
Astart to welcome thee!
Why linger? Hast thou not already built
Above the clouds thy lasting monument ?
Over thy Night Thoughts, too,
The pale free-thinkers watch,
And feel there's prophecy amid the song
When of the dead-awakening trump it speaks,
Of coming final doom
And the wise will of Heaven.
Die! Thou hast taught me that the name of death
Is to the just a glorious sound of joy!
But be my teacher still;
Become my genius there!
Translation of W. Taylor.
MY RECOVERY
ECOVERY,
R Though not for immortality designed, —
The Lord of life and death
Sent thee from heaven to me!
Had I not heard thy gentle tread approach,
Not heard the whisper of thy welcome voice,
Death had with iron foot
My chilly forehead pressed.
'Tis true, I then had wandered where the earths
Roll around suns; had strayed along the path
Where the maned comet soars
Beyond the armèd eye;
And with the rapturous, eager greet had hailed
The inmates of those earths and of those suns;
Had hailed the countless host
That throng the comet's disk;
Had asked the novice questions, and obtained
Such answers as a sage vouchsafes to youth;
Had learned in hours far more
Than ages here unfold !
## p. 8700 (#316) ###########################################
8700
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
-
But I had then not ended here below
What, in the enterprising bloom of life,
Fate with no light behest
Required me to begin.
Recovery,- daughter of Creation too,
Though not for immortality designed, -
The Lord of life and death
Sent thee from heaven to me!
Translation of W. Taylor.
THE CHOIRS
D
EAR dream which I must ne'er behold fulfilled,
Thou beamy form, more fair than orient day,
Float back, and hover yet
Before my swimming sight!
Do they wear crowns in vain, that they forbear
To realize the heavenly portraiture ?
Shall marble hearse them all,
Ere the bright change be wrought?
Hail, chosen ruler of a freer world!
For thee shall bloom the never-fading song,
Who bidd'st it be,- to thee
Religion's honors rise.
Yes! could the grave allow, of thee I'd sing:
For once would inspiration string the lyre, -
The streaming tide of joy,
My pledge for loftier verse.
Great is thy deed, my wish. He has not known
What 'tis to melt in bliss, who never felt
Devotion's raptures rise
On sacred Music's wing;
Ne'er sweetly trembled, when adoring choirs
Mingle their hallowed songs of solemn praise,
And at each awful pause
The unseen choirs above.
Long float around my forehead, blissful dream!
I hear a Christian people hymn their God,
And thousands kneel at once,
Jehovah, Lord, to thee!
## p. 8701 (#317) ###########################################
FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK
8701
The people sing their Savior, sing the Son;
Their simple song according with the heart,
Yet lofty, such as lifts
The aspiring soul from earth.
On the raised eyelash, on the burning cheek,
The young tear quivers; for they view the goal,
Where shines the golden crown,
Where angels wave the palm.
ong
Hush! the clear song wells forth. Now flows
Music, as if poured artless from the breast;
For so the Master willed
To lead its channeled course.
Deep, strong, it seizes on the swelling heart,
Scorning what knows not to call down the tear,
Or shroud the soul in gloom
Or steep in holy awe.
Borne on the deep, slow sounds, a holy awe
Descends. Alternate voices sweep the dome,
Then blend their choral force, -
The theme, Impending Doom;
Or the triumphal Hail to Him who rose,
While all the host of heaven o'er Sion's hill
Hovered, and praising saw
Ascend the Lord of Life.
One voice alone, one harp alone, begins;
But soon joins in the ever fuller choir.
The people quake. They feel
A glow of heavenly fire.
Joy, joy! they scarce support it. Rolls aloud
The organ's thunder, - now more loud and more,-
And to the shout of all
The temple trembles too.
Enough! I sink! The wave of people bows
Before the altar,— bows the front to earth;
They taste the hallowed cup,
Devoutly, deeply, still.
One day, when rest my bones beside a fane,
Where thus assembled worshipers adore,
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The conscious grave shall heave,
Its flowerets sweeter bloom;
And on the morn that from the rock He sprang,
When panting Praise pursues his way,
I'll hear — He rose again
Vibrating through the tomb.
Translation of W. Taylor.
FROM THE MESSIAH)
SY
(
EVEN times the thunder's stroke had rent the veil,
When now the voice of God in gentle tone
Was heard descending: “God is Love,” it spoke;
“Love, ere the worlds or their inhabitants
To life were called. In the accomplishment
Of this, my most mysterious, highest act,
Love am I still. Angels, ye shall behold
The death of earth's great Judge, the eternal Son;
And ye shall learn to know the Deity,
With adoration new to invoke his name.
Should not his arm uphold ye, at the sight
Of that dread day in terror ye would fade;
For finite are your forms! ” The voice now ceased.
Their holy hands the admiring angels clasped
In silent awe. A sign the Almighty made,
And in the face divine, Eloa read
The mandate given. To the celestial host
He cried, “Lift up your eyes to the Most High,
Ye chosen, favored children! Ye have longed
(God is your witness) to behold this day
Of his Messiah, this atoning day!
Shout, then, ye cherubim! behold your God;
The First and Last, the great Jehovah, deigns
To meet your wish. Yon seraph, messenger
From the eternal Son on your behalf,
Is to the altar sent. Had ye not been
Permitted thus to view the wondrous work
Of man's redemption, secret it had passed
In solitary, silent mystery.
But now, while sons of earth shall joyful sing
This day throughout eternity, our voice
In shouts shall join their chorus.
With glad eye
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Of piercing vision shall we contemplate
This mystery of atonement; clearer far
Shall we perceive it than the weeping band,
Who, though in error clouded, faithful still
Surround their Savior. Ah, what shall befall
His hardened persecutors! From life's book
Their names have long been blotted. Light divine
Jehovah grants alone to his redeemed;
No more with tears shall they behold the blood
For their atonement shed, but see its stream
Merge in the ocean of immortal life.
Oh, then in the soft lap of peace consoled,
The festival of light, and endless rest,
Triumphant shall they celebrate! Ye hosts
Of seraphim, and ye blest ransomed souls
Of righteous patriarchs, the jubilee,
The Sabbath of eternity, draws near!
Race after race of man shall thronging join
Your happy numbers, till, the reckoning filled,
The final doom pronounced, with glorious forms
All shall anew be clothed, and jointly taste
One universal bliss! Now, angels, haste!
Bid the seraphic guardians, who by God
To rule the spheres are stationed, straight prepare
To solemnize the great mysterious Day!
Ye patriarchs, from whom the Savior draws
His mortal lineage, to that sun repair
Which lights redemption's theatre! From thence
Ye may your great Redeemer view! A day
Jehovah sanctifies; a holy day
Greater than that which by your festal songs,
Ye mighty seraphim, was solemnized,
When, from creation pausing, God proclaimed
His primal Sabbath. Then, full well ye know,
Angelic powers, how bright young Nature smiled,
How fresh and lovely; how the morning stars,
With you, to their Creator homage paid.
Behold, a greater work the eternal Son
Will soon accomplish! Haste then, angels, haste!
Proclaim it through creation! Lo, the day
Of the Messiah's free obedience comes,
The Sabbath of the eternal covenant!
Eloa ceased. All Heaven in silence heard,
Their eyes uplifted toward the sanctuary.
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To Gabriel then a sign the Almighty made,
And swift the seraph to the throne advanced,
And secret charge received to bear behest
To Uriel, the sun's regent, and to those
Who o'er the earth bear rule, of high import,
Touching the Savior's death. Their golden seats
Meantime the high seraphic powers now left,
By Gabriel followed. Ere he yet approached
The mystic altar of the earth, his ear
Caught the deep murmured sighs, which low were
breathed,
In fervent wishes for the expected hour
Of man's salvation. There distinct arose
The voice of Adam, who through ages wept
His hapless fall. This was the altar seen
By him in Patmos, the high-favored seer
Of the new covenant: thence he heard the voice
Of martyred saints descend, whose plaintive cries
Mourned the delay of vengeance. Toward this spot
Gabriel advanced; when swift the first of men,
Eager to meet the coming seraph, flew.
A form impalpable of lustre clear
Enveloped Adam's spirit, beautiful
As that fair thought which the creative mind
In model imaged for the form of Man,
When, from the sacred earth of Paradise,
Fresh from his Maker's hand, youthful he sprung.
With radiant smile, which o'er his beaming brow
Celestial light diffused, Adam drew near,
And earnest spoke. «Hail, gracious messenger!
While I thy lofty mission heard, my soul
In joy was rapt. May I then view the form
Of manhood by the Savior worn, that form
Of mercy, in whose meek disguise he deigns
My fallen race to save! Show me the trace,
O seraph, of my Savior's earthly path:
My eye with awe shall view the distant track.
But may the first of sinners tread the spot
Whence the Messiah raised his face to heaven
And swore to ransom man ? Maternal earth,
How do I sigh once more to visit thee!
I, thy first habitant! Thy barren fields
By God's dread curse defaced, where now in garb
Of frail mortality, such earthly frame
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As in the dust I left, the Savior walks,
Would lovelier meet mine eyes than thy bright plains,
Thou long-lost Paradise! ) Adam here paused.
To whom the seraph: “I will speak thy wish
To the Redeemer: should his will divine
Grant thy petition, he will summon thee
His lowliest humiliation to behold. ”
Now had the angelic host all quitted heaven,
Spreading to distant spheres their separate flight.
Gabriel alone descended to the earth,
Which by the neighboring stars, as each rolled by
Its splendid orb, was hailed with joyful shouts.
The salutations glad reached Gabriel's ear
In silver tones:– “Queen of the scattered worlds!
Object of universal gaze! Bright spot,
Again selected for the theatre
Of God's high presence! Blest spectatress thou
Of his Messiah's work of mystery! ”
Thus sung the spheres; and through the concave vast
Angelic voices echoed back the sounds.
Gabriel exulting heard, and swift in flight
Reached earth's dim surface. O'er her silent vales
Refreshing coolness and deep slumber hung
Yet undisturbed; dark clouds of mist still lay
Heaped heavily upon her mountain-tops.
Through the surrounding gloom Gabriel advanced
In search of the Redeemer. Deep within
A narrow cleft which rent the forked height
Of sacred Olivet, oppressed by thought
The Savior sleeping lay: a jutting rock
His resting-place. With reverence Gabriel viewed
His tranquil slumber, and in wonder gazed
On that hid majesty which man's frail form,
By union with the Godhead, had acquired.
Still on the Savior's face the traces beamed
Of grace and love; the smile of mercy there
Still lingered visible; still in his eye
A tear of pity hung. But faintly showed
Those outward tokens of his soul, now sunk
In sleep profound. So lies the blooming earth
In eve's soft twilight veiled; her beauteous face,
Scarce recognized, so meets the inquiring eye
Of some close-hovering seraph, while aloft
In the yet lonely sky, the evening star
XV-545
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Shoots her pale radiance, calling from his bower
The contemplative sage. After long pause,
Gabriel thus softly cried :-“O Thou, whose eye
Omniscient searches heaven! who hear'st my words,
Though wrapped in sleep thy mortal body lies!
I have fulfilled thy mission. While my course
Returning I pursued, a fervent prayer
Adam implored me to convey. Thy face,
O gracious Savior, he on earth would see!
Now must I hasten, by Jehovah sent
On glorious ministration. Be ye hushed,
All living creatures! Every moment's space
Of this swift-flying time, while here yet lies
The world's Creator, dearer must ye deem
Than ages passed in duteous zeal for man.
Be still, ye whispering winds, as o'er this hill
Of lonely graves ye sweep, or sighing breathe
Your gentlest melodies! Descend, ye clouds,
And o'er these shades drop coolness and repose,
Deep and refreshing! Wave not your dark heads,
Ye tufted cedars! Cease, ye rustling groves,
While your Creator sleeps! » The seraph's voice
In whispers low now sunk; and swift he flew
To join th' assembled watchers, who, with him
(The faithful ministers of God's high will)
Governed with delegated rule the earth.
Thither he hastened to proclaim the approach
Of man's atonement by his Savior paid.
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THE KORAN
BY HENRY PRESERVED SMITH
K
JORAN, the well-known sacred book of the Mohammedans. The
word is variously written Coran, Kur'an, Qur'ân, or with
the article, Alcoran, Al-Koran, El-Qur'ân. It is derived
from a word meaning to chant, to recite, or to read aloud, especially
as an act of Divine service. Mohammed borrowed the word and the
idea from the preceding revealed religions, both of which made the
liturgical reading of their Scriptures a prominent part of public
worship. A single composition or chapter is called a Koran (x. 16),
and the whole body of revelations is the Koran. In one instance
(xv. 91) the word Koran is made to cover the whole body of revealed
books, including the Old and New Testaments as well as the book of
Mohammed.
The Koran is perhaps the most widely read book in the world.
It is the text-book in all Mohammedan schools. All Moslems know
large parts of it by heart. Devout Moslems read it through once a
month. Portions of it are recited in the five daily prayers, and the
recitation of the whole book is a meritorious work frequently per-
formed at solemn or festival anniversaries. What Arabic science
there is, has the Koran as its object; and the ambition of every
devout Moslem student is to apprehend the divine philosophy which
it is supposed to contain.
There is no reasonable doubt that the Koran is the work of Mo-
hammed. Its parts were published by him at intervals during the
more than twenty years of his activity as prophet. It is not clear
that all were immediately put on record, but the Prophet encouraged
his followers to commit them to heart. Some, however, were written
down on whatever material came to hand; for we are told that when
a collection of the whole was made, the parts were found “on leaves
of the palm, on white stones and the shoulder-blades of sheep and
camels, and in the breasts of men. ” This essential work of collec-
tion was done soon after the Prophet's death, by his amanuensis,
Zaid Ibn Thabit, at the command of the Caliph Abu Bekr. A few
years later, as divergent copies were circulated, the Caliph Othman
ordered a standard text to be made by three learned men; and when
this was completed, other copies were made to conform to it. This
received text has been transmitted without substantial variation to our
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THE KORAN
own time, and probably represents correctly the work of Mohammed.
No insinuation against its accuracy was ever uttered by the surviving
comrades of the Prophet.
The Koran consists of chapters, each of which is called a Sura.
They vary in length from a single line to many pages. * There is
reason to think that the longer ones are made by putting together
compositions originally published at different times. In these chap-
ters, unity of thought or plan is difficult to discover.
The only
principle of arrangement for the book as a whole was to put the
longest Suras first and the shortest last: this from the second Sura
on,— the first place was given to the brief prayer called the Fatiha.
Mohammed disclaimed the title of poet. His earliest compositions,
however, have a certain rhythmic form; the verses being short, with
three or four accented syllables. All the verses of a single revelation
rhyme, and a change in the rhyme indicates a transition to a new
composition. The later chapters are also in rhyme; but as the verses
are much longer, the poetic effect is lost.
The fragmentary character of the Suras, and the lack of plan in
the arrangement of the book as a whole, throw great obstacles in the
way of the reader. Moreover, as is the case in many early books,
much is only obscurely expressed because the author expected to sup-
ply something by his own action in delivery. It is of the first import-
ance, therefore, to bring the various revelations into connection with
the life of Mohammed. Some help is given us here by the Tradi-
tions; but for the most part we are dependent on internal evidence.
It is evident at the first glance that the shorter Suras are rhapsodic
in character; gushes of emotion, coming from a man under religious
excitement. The longer compositions, on the other hand, are prosaic,
the result of reflection, frequently commonplace or trivial. With this
general criterion, and with the help of tradition, we can separate
roughly three periods of composition.
