“The youth art thou, who for uncounted time, Upon our graves hast stood with hidden meaning; In hours of darkness a consoling sign, Of higher manhood’s joyous, hailed beginning; That which hath made our soul so long to pine, Now draws us hence, sweet aspirations winning. In Death, eternal Life hath been revealed: And thou art Death, by thee we first are healed.” The minstrel wandered, full of joy, towards Hindostan, the heart elated with the sweetest love, which, beneath yonder heavens, he poured forth in fiery songs, so that a thousand hearts inclined towards him, and with a thousand branches grew towards heaven the joyous tidings. Soon after the minstrel’s departure, the precious life became a sacrifice to the deep guilt of man: he died in youthful years, torn from the world he loved, from the weeping mother and lamenting friends. His mouth of love emptied the dark cup of inexpressible affliction. In fearful anguish approached the hour of the new world’s birth. Deeply was he touched with the old world’s fearful death—the weight of the old world fell heavily upon him. Once more he gazed placidly upon the mother, then came the loosening hand of eternal love, and he slumbered. Few days only hung a deep veil over the swelling sea, over the quaking land; the beloved ones wept countless tears; the mystery was unsealed: the ancient stone heavenly spirits raised from the dark grave. Angels sat beside the slumberer, tenderly formed out of his dreams. Awakened in the new glory of a god, he ascended the height of the new-born world; and with his own hand buried within the deserted sepulchre the old one’s corpse, and with almighty hand placed over it the stone no power can raise. Yet do thy dear ones weep rich tears of joy, tears of emotion, and of eternal gratitude beside thy grave; even yet, with glad alarm, do they behold thee rise, themselves with thee; behold thee weeping, with sweet feeling, on the happy bosom of thy mother, solemnly walking with thy friends, speaking words as if broken from the tree of life; see thee hasten, full of longing, to thy Father’s arms, bringing the young race of man, and the cup of a golden future, which shall never be exhausted. The mother soon followed thee in heavenly triumph; she was the first to join thee in the new home. Long ages have flown by since then, and ever in yet higher glory hath thy new creation grown, and thousands from out of pain and misery have, full of faith and longing, followed thee; roam with thee and the heavenly virgin in the realm of love, serve in the temple of heavenly Death, and are in eternity thine. “Lifted is the stone, Manhood hath arisen: Still are we thine own, Unharmed by bond or prison. When earth—life—fade away In the last meal’s solemn gladness, Around thy cup dare stray No trace of grief or sadness.