What they call Interests, those have gone;
New ones in their place must be born;
I sit, pensive, pensive ’bout nothing –
Nowhere to go and nothing to sing –
And when I try, ’tis the world’s own discord;
But I can still listen to the Lord.
What they call Passions, those I control;
For if I don’t, they’ll cause misery untold;
I sit motionless, thinking about but nothing –
The heavens to attain if thought but took wing!
But such’s not to try, for it moves of its own accord;
Yet, in such dimness, I can listen to the Lord.
What they call Strength, in me I don’t witness;
Call it or strength, or life, or passion, or finesse;
All’s sapped into but a single thought –
A thought of nothingness, one large Nought;
No Should nor Ought for me now. I can’t afford
Not to keep listening and listening to the Lord.
Beethoven-Lord empowers the survival-will
Of those by Life made miserable-ill;
I go to him who Acts not on Whim;
For dear life now I hang by Him.