Still deeper seems the night to surge around me, But in my inmost spirit all is light. I'll rest not till the finished work has crown'd me. God's promise--that alone doth give me might. He hastens forth, groping his way in blindness, to call up his workmen. His life is ending and he must end his work. It is midnight, but the light within him makes him think the day has dawned. In the courtyard there are awaiting him Mephistopheles and a band of Lemurs--horrible skeleton-figures with shovels and torches. They are digging his grave. Faust mistakes the sound for that of his workmen, and incites them to labour. He orders the overseer, Mephistopheles, to press on with the work ... to finish the last great moat--or 'Graben.' '_Man spricht_,' answers Mephistopheles _sotto voce_, 'Man spricht, wie man mir Nachricht gab, Von keinem _Graben_--doch vom Grab.' It is no moat, no Graben, that is now being dug, but a grave--a Grab. Standing on the very verge of his grave, Faust, reviewing the memories of his long life, feels that _at last_, though old and blind, with no more hopes in earthly existence, he has won peace and happiness in having worked for others and in having given other human beings a measure of independence and of that true liberty and happiness which are gained only by honest toil. He alone truly _possesses_ and can _enjoy_ who has made a thing his own by earning it. Yes, to this thought I hold with firm persistence; The last result of wisdom stamps it true; He only earns his freedom and existence Who daily conquers them anew. And such a throng I fain would see-- Would stand on a free soil, with people free. Standing there, on the very edge of his new-dug grave he blesses the present moment and bids it stay. The fatal words are spoken and according to the compact his life must end. He sinks lifeless to the ground. The Lemurs lay him in the open grave. Mephistopheles, triumphant, looks on and exclaims: No joy could sate him, no delight suffice. To grasp at empty shades was his endeavour. The latest, poorest emptiest moment--this-- Poor fool, he tried to hold it fast for ever. Me he resisted in such vigorous wise; But Time is lord--and there the old man lies! The clock stands still. 'Stands still,' repeats a voice from heaven, 'still, silent, as the midnight.' 'It is finished,' says Mephistopheles. 'Nay. 'Tis but past,' answers the voice. 'Past!' exclaims Mephistopheles; 'how _past_ and yet not _finished_?' ... He is enraged at the suspicion that life, though past, may not be _finished_--that Faust's human soul may _yet_ elude that hell to which he destines it ... that of annihilation.