Garden Scene
Margaret. Faust.
MARGARET
Dost thou believe in God?
FAUST
Doth mortal live
Who dares to say that he believes in God?
Go, bid the priest a truthful answer give,
Go, ask the wisest who on earth e'er trod,—
Their answer will appear to be
Given alone in mockery.
MARGARET
Then thou dost not believe? This sayest thou?
FAUST
Sweet love, mistake not what I utter now!
Who knows His name?
Who dares proclaim:—
Him I believe?
Who so can feel
His heart to steel
To say: I believe Him not?
The All-Embracer,
The All-Sustainer,
Holds and sustains He not
Thee, me, Himself?
Hang not the heavens their arch o'erhead?
Lies not the earth beneath us, firm?
Gleam not with kindly glances
Eternal stars on high?
Looks not mine eye deep into thine?
And do not all things
Crowd on thy head and heart,
And round thee twine, in mystery eterne,
Invisible, yet visible?
Fill, then, thy heart, however vast, with this,
And when the feeling perfecteth thy bliss,
O, call it what thou wilt,
Call it joy! heart! love! God!
No name for it I know!
Tis feeling all—nought else;
Name is but sound and smoke,
Obscuring heaven's bright glow.
MARGARET
Dost thou believe in God?
FAUST
Doth mortal live
Who dares to say that he believes in God?
Go, bid the priest a truthful answer give,
Go, ask the wisest who on earth e'er trod,—
Their answer will appear to be
Given alone in mockery.
MARGARET
Then thou dost not believe? This sayest thou?
FAUST
Sweet love, mistake not what I utter now!
Who knows His name?
Who dares proclaim:—
Him I believe?
Who so can feel
His heart to steel
To say: I believe Him not?
The All-Embracer,
The All-Sustainer,
Holds and sustains He not
Thee, me, Himself?
Hang not the heavens their arch o'erhead?
Lies not the earth beneath us, firm?
Gleam not with kindly glances
Eternal stars on high?
Looks not mine eye deep into thine?
And do not all things
Crowd on thy head and heart,
And round thee twine, in mystery eterne,
Invisible, yet visible?
Fill, then, thy heart, however vast, with this,
And when the feeling perfecteth thy bliss,
O, call it what thou wilt,
Call it joy! heart! love! God!
No name for it I know!
Tis feeling all—nought else;
Name is but sound and smoke,
Obscuring heaven's bright glow.
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