The Toil of a Smith

Some lyrics of mine The Toil of a Smith Wieland, the smith, has a name That far and wide is unmatched. Yet faith teaches us compassion. The greatness of some is like a curse for them. Insignificant is the course of my life, Meager before me appears the yield of my hand's work. But is it already time to take stock? Yes, is everything already in vain? Life has many sides. Some of them are unknown to me. Here I am, examining my anxious hand, Breathing heavily and feeling my suffering. What should my life make possible for me? What should bring me relief? In the garden, I hear the birds singing. From this, I recognize a cheerfulness in certain things. It would not be easy for an owl to laugh. One looks at him askance. No one is entirely free today. What do we want to make of it? Something great has not been commanded. It was meant to be given, but it will not be stolen from us. My eyes are clouded, what does my life mean to me? I have lost the sense of striving. My spirit no longer bears witness to such depth, Even though I have already fought for it in this existence. The uncomfortable narrowness of the given Makes me dissatisfied and empty. I fasten my own to the object. I do this when I am allowed to. Then I would like to feel breadth, height, and depth again. Nothing bad should happen. Of importance in the world Is an unconstrained hand, Which creatively brings forth from itself What the material holds hidden within it. There I have shaped my things. They are what keep me upright. I have managed some of it. In doing so, my expression has brightened. Happiness should be preserved. For this, we have to contend. What we know how to set right, For that, leisure should kiss us.