To say he doth believe in God?
May’st ask thy priests and sages all,
Their answer seems like mockery to fall
Upon the asker’s ear.
Margaret.
Then thou dost not believe?
Faust.
Misunderstand me not, thou sweet, angelic face!
Who dares pronounce His name?
And who proclaim—
I do believe in Him?
And who dares presume
To utter—I believe Him not?
The All-embracer,
The All-upholder,
Grasps and upholds He not
Thee, me, Himself?
Vaults not the Heaven his vasty dome above thee?
Stand not the earth’s foundations firm beneath thee?
And climb not, with benignant beaming,
Up heaven’s slope the eternal stars?
Looks not mine eye now into thine?
And feel’st thou not an innate force propelling
Thy tide of life to head and heart,
A power that, in eternal mystery dwelling,
Invisible visible moves beside thee?
Go, fill thy heart therewith, in all its greatness,
And when thy heart brims with this feeling,
Then call it what thou wilt,
Heart! Happiness! Love! God!
I have no name for that which passes all revealing!
Feeling is all in all;
Name is but smoke and sound,
Enshrouding heaven’s pure glow.
Margaret.
All that appears most pious and profound;
Much of the same our parson says,
Only he clothes it in a different phrase.
Faust.
All places speak it forth;
