WITH HIS morning songs he knocks at our door bringing his greetings of sunrise.
With him we take our cattle to the fields and play our flute in the shade.
We lose him to find him again and again in the market crowd.
In the busy hour of the day we come upon him of a sudden, sitting on the wayside grass.
We march when he beats his drum,
We dance when he sings.
We stake our joys and sorrows to play his game to the end
He stands at the helm of our boat,
With him we rock on the perilous waves.
For him we light our lamp and wait when our day is done.

THEY THROW their shadows before them who carry their lantern on their back.

REJOICE!
For Night's fetters have broken, the dreams have vanished.
Thy word has rent its veils, the buds of morning are opened; awake,
0 sleeper!
Light's greetings spread from the East to the West,
And at the ramparts of the ruined prison rise the paeans of Victory!