Song of The Prevailing

Song of The Prevailing

What then is a man, that his name should inherit the tongues of the earth?

What then is his pride, that he should stand before God? 

What then is justice, that it should be for nothing? 

Is there not truth, is there not wisdom, that they each should prevail?

To abandon their song, to cast aside their hope, is to quench on their sword.

What then is a creature, a thing, a fleeting dust, that it should not perish? 

For to know and to dream, to aspire and to look, to perceive and to grasp, are these not to fall before the distance?

For what life is permitted to search, permitted to knock at the gates? 

To listen to their song, the ideals to which we lift up our hearts, is it not to know the eternal before which one falls?

For what glory is attained, what authority is known in us? 

Do we not reach, that we should fall short? 

Yet, to abandon their call— for the arrogance of futility— is it not to profane their light?

Is not the beacon lit before us? 

Is not the way calling? 

But to see is to know darkness, to embark is to move nowhere.

Yet, do we not search, do we not move forward? 

Not as the master who attains, but as the futile who is graced.

For what, then, should the fleeting cast aside the glory aspired? 

For what authorship sustains us? 

What, then, does the fleeting conquer? 

... if only to listen, that the fleeting should hear.

To abandon their gifts, the ideals to which we profane, is it not to forsake their glory?

Is the glory of the master not greater than our emptiness? 

For what, then, should the meek abandon their grace?

Is insolence deserving? 

Is pride worthy? 

Only for death, that light should prevail.

May God sing in us, that life should know song.