Schicksalslied, Op. 54 (Johannes Brahms)

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• (Posted 2025-01-06)  CPDL #83301:       

Editor: Ariel Barton (submitted 2025-01-06).   Score information: Letter, 9 pages, 187 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: Vocal parts only.

• (Posted 2024-02-08)  CPDL #79040:       

Editor: Claude Tallet (submitted 2024-02-08).   Score information: A4, 21 pages, 1.27 MB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: Includes a keyboard version of the original accompaniment.

• (Posted 2007-02-12)  CPDL #13583:       

Editor: Arthur Reutenauer (submitted 2007-02-12).   Score information: A4, 21 pages, 332 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes:

Possible error(s) identified. Error summary: Missing multiple pages at the end See the discussion page for full description.

General Information

Title: Schicksalslied, Op. 54
Composer: Johannes Brahms
Lyricist: Friedrich Hölderlin

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular

Language: German
Instruments: Orchestra (2222-2230 tymp str); piano reduction by composer

First published: 1871 Simrock
Description: 

External websites:

• Schicksalslied, Op. 54 (Johannes Brahms) at the Petrucci Music Library (IMSLP)
• Free choir training aids for this work are available at Choralia.

Original text and translations

German text Ihr wandelt droben im Licht, Auf weichem Boden, selige Genien! Glänzende Götterlüfte Rühren euch leicht, Wie die Finger der Künstlerin Heilige Saiten. Schicksallos, wie der schlafende Säugling, atmen die Himmlischen; Keusch bewahrt In bescheidener Knospe Blühet ewig Ihnen der Geist, Und die seligen Augen Blicken in stiller, Ewiger Klarheit. Doch uns ist gegeben Auf keiner Stätte zu ruhn; Es schwinden, es fallen Die leidenden Menschen Blindlings von einer Stunde zur andern, Wie Wasser von Klippe zu Klippe geworfen, Jahrlang ins Ungewisse hinab.

English translation Ye move up yonder in light, On airy ground, o blessed spirits! Radiant winds ethereal O'er you play light, As the fingers inspired that wake Heavenly lyre-chords. Free from Fate, like the slumbering Suckling, breathe the immortals. Pure, unsullied, In bud that enfolds It blooms for aye, The flower of their spirit. And the eyes of the blessed Gaze in tranquil Brightness eternal. But to us is it given In no abiding place to dwell; We vanish, we stumble, We suffering, sorrowing mortals Blindly from one Brief hour to another, Like water from boulder To boulder flung downward, Year by year to the dark Unknown below. Translation by Florence T. Jameson