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Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count thy minutes. Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou knowest how to wait. Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower. We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble for a chance. We are too poor to be late. And thus it is that time goes by while I give it to every querulous man who claims it, and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last. At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate to be shut; but I find that yet there is time.
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Text Authorship:
- by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in Gitanjali, no. 82, first published 1912 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in গীতাঞ্জলি (Gitanjali), no. 82 [text unavailable]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Josef Alexander (1907 - 1992), "Time is endless", 1973 [ soprano, harpsichord, and percussion ], from Gitanjali, no. 7 [sung text not yet checked]
Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:
- Also set in German (Deutsch), a translation by Anonymous/Unidentified Artist ; composed by Claus Ogermann.
Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2005-01-17
Line count: 17
Word count: 118
Endlos ist Zeit in deinen Händen, Herr, und niemand kann je die Minuten zählen. Vorbei ziehn Tage, Nächte, Zeitalter blühen auf und ab wie Blumen. Du weißt zu warten, Herr. Jahrhundert folgt Jahrhundert, vollkommnet dabei eine kleine wilde Blume. Wir dürfen keine Zeit verlieren, und da wir sie nicht haben, müssen wir sie erjagen. Zu wenig haben wir an ihr, um etwas zu versäumen. So ist es, dass die Zeit vergeht, und ich sie jedem Nörgler widme, doch dein Altar bleibt ohne Gaben bis zuletzt. Wenn dann der Tag sich neigt, beeil’ ich mich voll Furcht, dass deine Tür verschlossen; doch stell’ ich fest, mir ist noch Zeit gewährt.
About the headline (FAQ)
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2014 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann. Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
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Based on:
- a text in English by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in Gitanjali, no. 82, first published 1912
Based on:
- a text in Bangla (Bengali) by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941), no title, appears in গীতাঞ্জলি (Gitanjali), no. 82 [text unavailable]
This text was added to the website: 2014-07-11
Line count: 17
Word count: 109