I am the last disciple of
This hidden, tempter god,
Whose unknown teachings rise above
The common road men plod
In drunk processions in his name.
He coaxes me to turn
Within, away from petty fame;
To fire a slower burn
That grasps at things with lesser greed;
To still and silent lie,
So that my only, deepest need
Is mirroring the sky;
To question and to hesitate
Before I think or act.
Beneath his sway I liberate
My will and keep intact
My unnamed hopes and energy —
I'm richer, not in things,
But higher self-reality
That ever upward springs.
This unknown god delivers me
From care and pain and fear;
His intercession helps me see
His influence so near
That I can feel it lodge within
My soul — feel it inspire
A quickening of life, begin
To drive me ever higher.
(cf. Beyond Good and Evil, ยง295)
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Peter Saint-Andre > Writings > Nietzsche > Songs of Zarathustra