Friend, in the Desolate Time

 

Friend, in the desolate time, when your soul is enshrouded in darkness

When, in a deep abyss, memory and feeling die out,

Intellect timidly gropes among shadowy forms and illusions

Heart can no longer sigh, eye is unable to weep

When, from your night-clouded soul the wings of fire have fallen

And you, to nothing, afraid, feel yourself sinking once more,

Say, who rescues you then? – Who is the comforting angel

Brings to your innermost soul order and beauty again,

Building once more your fragmented world, restoring the fallen altar

And when it is raised, lighting the sacred flame?

None but the powerful being who first from the limitless darkness

Kissed to life seraphs and woke numberless suns to their dance.

None but the holy Word who called the worlds into existence

And in whose power the worlds move on their paths to this day.

Therefore, rejoice, oh friend, and sing in the darkness of sorrow:

Night is the mother of day, chaos the neighbour of God.

Erik Johan Stagnelius Translated from the Swedish by Bill Coyle