The Song of Jacob Boehme

The wild fowl hath not seen it, No vulture flown so high, The lion’s whelp hath not trodden, Nor the fierce lion passed by, The crags and the abysses Of that most lonely way, Which windeth in the mountains, And leadeth to the May. The chymist labours nightly, No travail will he shirk, If he can hope to finish The Philosophic Work. Mercury, salt, and sulphur, In Athanor are they, But through their transmutation He cannot find the May. And I am but a cobbler, At work from morn till night, A poor and silly groundling Who scarce can read or write; With cares of trade and household I struggle all the day, But I have trod the mountains, And I have found the May. —The May of glancing sunshine, The May of glowing flowers, Of singing birds, and breezes, And swift leaf-scented showers. No more I fear the Turba, For I have seen God play Among the dews and lilies Of the Eternal May. O I have found the spring-time Of green sun-spotted shade! O I have found the garden Where roses never fade! O I have learned the secrets And signs of all the sky, And wrought the Magnum Opus Of holy Alchemy! The salt Impress of Saturn Is mine, and Luna’s Form, And Mercury’s sharp Flagrat, And Mars’ most ruddy storm, Mine is the young child Venus, Mine Jupiter’s pure might, I haunt the sacred Houses, I read the dooms of night. The magical Triangles Have shown me what they hold Of light and corporiety, Of bitterness and gold, I saw God in the garden, I saw Him on the Tree, Dying to bring back Adam Into the Liberty. Men laugh, and call me crazy, The pastor saith I’ve sought To overturn the doctrines That Martin Luther taught. My books he burnt, with curses, And I have heard him tell Good Christians to avoid me As they would flee from hell. The astrologers all mock me, The learned chymists cry, ‘What hath this child to tell us About our Alchemy?’ I have felt drought and hunger, Met lions in the way, Been wounded in friends’ houses, But I have found the May. —The May of glancing sunshine, The May of glowing flowers, Of singing-birds, and breezes, And swift leaf-scented showers. No more I fear the Turba, For I have seen God play Among the dews and lilies Of the Eternal May. O hearken then, thou Magus, And let thy love be sure, Give worship to the Artist, And keep his pattern pure, O labour in the lubet! And I shall humbly pray That thou become a Champion, And find at last the May. The magical Triangles Shall both at last be one, Adam return to Paradise, The Mighty Work be done; Then the meek holy servants Shall see their God at play— O haste the time, great Master, When all men find the May!