by Rabindranath Tagore (1861 - 1941)
Translation by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Time is endless in thy hands, my lord
Language: English after the Bangla (Bengali)
Our translations: GER
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.
About the headline (FAQ)
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
Zeit ist endlos, Herr
Language: German (Deutsch) after the English
Zeit ist endlos, Herr, in Deinen Händen. Keinen gibt's, der Deine Stunden zählt. Tage, Nächte fliehen vorbei Und die Jahrtausende erblüh'n und welken hin Gleich Blumen. Doch Du kannst warten. Deine Jahrhunderte geh'n hin, eins nach dem andern Und eine kleine Wiesenblume ist das Werk, das sie vollendet haben. Wir aber dürfen keine Zeit verlieren, Wir haben keine Zeit, Und deshalb müssen wir uns um unsern Vorteil raufen. Wir sind zu arm, als daß wir uns verspäten dürften. Und daher kommt es, daß meine Zeit vorübergeht; Ich geb' sie jedem zänkischen Mann, der sie erheischt: Indessen ist zuletzt Dein Altar Leer von allen Opfergaben. Doch wenn der Tag zu Ende ist, dann haste ich vor Furcht, Es könnte Dein Tempeltor geschlossen sein - Und finde, es ist noch immer Zeit.
Text Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
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]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Claus Ogermann (b. 1930), "Zeit ist endlos, Herr", published 1975 [mezzo-soprano, piano], from Tagore Lieder, no. 3. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2005-01-17
Line count: 19
Word count: 129