Margaret’s Song

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  There was a king in Thule,  True even to the grave;  To whom his dying mistress  A golden beaker gave.  At every feast he drained it,  Naught was to him so dear,  And often as he drained it,  Gush’d from his eyes the tear.  When death came, unrepining  His cities o’er he told;  All to his heir resigning,  Except his cup of gold.  With many a knightly vassal  At a royal feast sat he,  In yon proud hall ancestral,  In his castle o’er the sea.  Up stood the jovial monarch,  And quaff’d his last life’s glow,  Then hurled the hallow’d goblet  Into the flood below.  He saw it splashing, drinking,  And plunging in the sea;  His eyes meanwhile were sinking,  And never again drank he. “Margaret’s Song” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) in “Faust. Part I.”

Christ Will Do

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“Christ will do.”
This is my peace.
“Christ will do,”
Makes vain toils cease.
“Christ will do;”
Is covering fleece.
“Christ will do.”
Is His increase.

“Christ will do,”
His blood for me.
“Christ will do”
My cleansing be.
“Christ will do,”
And all will see
How “Christ will do”
To set men free.

Say, “Christ will do,”
Till all have heard.
For “Christ will do,”
Is life’s watchword.
When “Christ will do,”
Dead hearts are stirred,
That “Christ will do,”
Is grace conferred.

“Christ will do,”
Thus ends the war.
“Christ will do.”
He is the door.
“Christ will do.”
Makes praises soar.
“Christ will do.”
There is no more.


(copyright James K. Wilson, Jr. April 23, 2008.)

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