Volume 4 — "QUARE TRISTIS ES ANIMA MEA, ET QUARE CONTURBAS ME?"
Reading edition
Why, O my soul! art thou, ofttimes, So faint and sad? Life shows to thee its brightest side; Why not be glad? Is not the earth most beautiful, What wouldst have more? Filled is thy cup with life's best gifts And running o'er. And all the grandeur and the grace Of noble art— Do they not beautify thy life, And cheer thy heart? And love, most heavenly gift of all— Is it not thine? Yes, truly; yet I cannot say Content is mine. I feel a sadness of the soul, A weariness, A constant longing of the heart; What meaneth this? {398} I know that once, when journeying far, I felt like this, But then they only called my grief A home-sickness. And so, with every gift of God, With nought amiss, My heart is longing, longing still; What meaneth this? Why is it that my soul is sad, What meaneth this? It panteth after thee, O God! Thou art its bliss.