Classic Poem

The sun arose near Paderborn
In a mood of melancholy.
His task indeed is a tiresome one—
To light a world of folly.

For when he has lit the one half up
And is hasting to let his light fall
On the other half, already the first
Is darkening down to nightfall.

Sisyphus' stone keeps rolling back;
The Danaïds' leaky vessel
Will never be full, and the sun in vain
With the dark will always wrestle.

And lo! as the early mist dissolved,
And the morning red flamed o'er me,
The form of the Man who was crucified
Appeared on the path before me.

The sight of you always makes me sad,
Unhappy kinsman and dreamer!
Poor fool, who wanted to save the world
And be mankind's Redeemer!

O evilly they entreated you,
Those mighty lords of Jewry!
But why did you speak of Church and State
So regardless of their fury!

Alas! that the art of printing books
To the world had not been given!
If it had, in a book you had only to air
Your views on the things of heaven.

A censor would then have excised any blame
Of our earth, and avoided friction.
Yes, a careful and loving censorship
Would have saved you from crucifixion.

Had you preached but your Sermon on the Mount
From a text of a different bias!
You had genius and talent enough to know
That one ought to spare the pious!

From the Temple with whips you even chased
The bankers and money-changers.
And now, poor dreamer! you hang on the cross,
A warning from all such dangers.