Be it so, then—thou, the cornfield rich in flowing golden grain
Still must see the gladdened reapers in the season come again,
Reap the harvest thou hast grown;
Be thou still, the bright, the wondrous star, whose light all men may share,
Shining on, supreme, majestic in the studded heavens there,
Distant—splendid—and unknown"
Work, then, for the coming ages, that shall hold thy days so dear;
Strive, and testify, and suffer, like some ancient prophet-seer!
Thou thy onward course shalt keep
Calm and peaceful, like the Rhine, that grand old river. To thy brink
Let all nations come, and, grateful, of thy flowing current drink,
'Twill be still as clear and deep!
Work, then, freely: work unceasing. I will watch beside the gate;
What care I what others think me? For I know that, 'spite their hate,
Soon or late, fame will be mine.
But to day my place is here; for I the pious duty claim
Here to stand, to guard from wrong a father's glory and fair name,
As it were a sacred shrine!
