Now feed me with life as with rain is nourished the flower! Crown me with ecstasy, drench me with power! See, I am bare to Thee as the fields are bare to the sun. Resplendent, vivid, ever-living One, This is the moment, this the creative hour! Lo, I am one with thee, I partake, I am washed anew. Out of lies this is true, Out of the dark of lies and entangling hates this is true, That Thou who art ever-living, out of death shall create anew. What weakling spirit knew thee gray and old, Thou flaming one, Thou fructifying sun, Thou trumpet-call of morning to the blood, Thou surge of the earth flood! Youth of the universe art Thou, militant, bold. Naught to Thee is decay, When the spirit rots in its shroud, And the horrible thoughts of night have way, And life is a noisome cloud; A noisome cloud of the fen, Dank with the spirit’s decay! O out of the morning laughest Thou then, Out of the singing day. Out of the morning leapest Thou, Laughing at fear and pain, And the horrible thoughts of night give way, And the soul is created again. The hills now are flooded with light and the trees rejoice With happy voice. The smell of the sweet, green things is in the air. The breeze is a prayer. And my soul, O my Comrade, my living soul is a prayer. And rapture gives way to peace. The dawning faints into the day. Out of night have I found release, Out of death, the way. And my heart is calm with Thee, my heart that went forth with a shout. Thou hast compassed me wholly about. With the floods of Thy peace Thou hast compassed me wholly about. I am elate with power. Past is the creative hour. I am calm for the ways of men. Shall I not proclaim Thee then To the doubting lives of men! Out of the dawn have I plucked Thee. I go to the world of men. The Bestowing Virtue GEORGE BURMAN FOSTER The thou is older than the I; the thou hath been proclaimed holy, but the I not yet; thus spake Zarathustra.