spirit-worlds.
Nay more, I even lack the power to love
That which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.
Maria:
Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:
That mine own way to live the spirit-life
Doth change into its opposite, whene’er
It penetrates another’s character.
And I must also see how spirit-power
Grows rich in blessing when, by other paths,
It pours itself into the souls of men.
(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)
It floweth forth in speech, and in these words
Lies power to raise to realms celestial
Man’s common mode of thinking; and create
A world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.
Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallowness
To depths of earnest feeling; and can cast
Man’s character in sure and noble mould.
And I—yes, I am altogether filled
By just this spirit-power, and must behold
The pain and desolation that it brings
To other hearts, when from mine own it pours.
Philia:
It seemed as though the voices of some choir
(Enter Prof. Capesius and Dr. Strader.)
Mingled together, uttering manifold
Conceptions and opinions, each his own,
Of these who formed our recent gathering.
Full many harmonies there were indeed,
But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.
Maria:
Ah, when the words and speech of many men
Present themselves in such wise to the soul,
It seems as though man’s very prototype
Stood centred there in secret mystery:
Become through many souls articulate,
As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itself
Grows visible in many-coloured rays.
Capesius:
Through changing scenes of many centuries
We wandered year on year in earnest search;
Striving to fathom deep the living force
That dwelt within the souls of those who sought
To probe and scan the fundaments of being,
And set before man’s soul the goals of life.
We thought that in the depths of our own souls
We lived the higher powers of thought itself;
And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.
We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,
Sure basis in the logic of our mind
When new experiences crossed our path
Questioning there the judgment of our soul.
Yet now such basis wavers, when amazed
I hear today, as I have heard before,
The mode of thought taught by these people here.
And more and more uncertain do I grow,
When I perceive, how powerfully in life
This mode of thought doth work. Full many a day
Have I spent thus, thinking how I might shape
Time’s riddles as they solved themselves to me
In words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.
Happy indeed was I, if I could fill
Only the smallest corner of some soul
Amongst my audience with the warmth of life.
And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,
Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.
Yet all results of teaching thus could lead
Only to recognition of this truth
So loved and emphasized by men of deeds,
That in the clash of life’s realities,
Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:
They may indeed wing life’s creative powers
To due fruition, but they cannot shape
And mould our life themselves. So have I judged
And with this modest comment was content:
Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamed
And likewise all that joins itself to life.
More potent than the ripest form of words,
However art might weave therein her spell,
Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strong
The hand of destiny to mould his life.
Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudice
With dull oppressive hand will always quench
The strength of e’en the very best of words.
But that which here reveals itself in speech
Gives men, who think as I do, food for thought.
Clearly
