FAUST
Forbear, my child! Thou feelest thee I love;
My heart, my blood I’d give, my love to prove,
And none would of their faith or church bereave.
MARGARET
That’s not enough, we must ourselves believe!
FAUST
Must we?
MARGARET
Ah, could I but thy soul inspire!
Thou honorest not the sacraments, alas!
FAUST
I honor them.
MARGARET
But yet without desire;
’Tis long since thou hast been either to shrift
or mass.
Dost thou believe in God?
FAUST
My darling, who dares say?
Yes, I in God believe.
Question or priest or sage, and they
Seem, in the answer you receive,
To mock the questioner.
MARGARET
Then thou dost not believe?
FAUST
Sweet one! my meaning do not misconceive!
Him who dare name,
And who proclaim—
Him I believe?
Who that can feel,
His heart can steel,
To say: I believe him not?
The All-embracer,
All-sustainer,
Holds and sustains he not
Thee, me, himself?
Lifts not the Heaven its dome above?
Doth not the firm-set earth beneath us lie?
And, beaming tenderly with looks of love,
Climb not the everlasting stars on high?
Do we not gaze into each other’s eyes?
Nature’s impenetrable agencies,
Are they not thronging on thy heart and brain,
Viewless, or visible to mortal ken,
Around thee weaving their mysterious chain?
Fill thence thy heart, how large soe’er it be;
And in the feeling when thou utterly art blest,
Then call it, what thou wilt—
Call it Bliss! Heart! Love! God!
I have no name for it!
’Tis feeling all;
Name is but sound and smoke
Shrouding the glow of heaven.
MARGARET
All this is doubtless good and fair;
Almost the same the parson says,
Only in slightly different phrase.
FAUST
Beneath Heaven’s sunshine, everywhere,
This is the utterance of the human heart;
Each in his language doth the like impart;
Then why not I in mine?
MARGARET
What thus I hear
Sounds plausible, yet I’m not reconciled;
There’s something wrong about it; much I fear
That thou art not a Christian.
FAUST
My sweet child!
MARGARET
Alas! it long hath sorely troubled me,
To see thee in such odious company.