The Schicksalslied (Song of Destiny), Op. 54, is an orchestrally accompanied choral setting of a poem written by Friedrich Hölderlin and is one of several major choral works written by Johannes Brahms.

Brahms began the work in the summer of 1868 at Wilhelmshaven, but it was not completed until May 1871. The delay was primarily due to Brahms's hesitation over how the piece should end. Hesitant to make a decision, he began work on the Alto Rhapsody, Op. 53, which was completed in 1869 and first performed in 1870.

Schicksalslied is considered to be one of Brahms's best choral works along with Ein deutsches Requiem. In fact, Josef Sittard [de] argues in his book on Brahms, "Had Brahms never written anything but this one work, it would alone have sufficed to rank him with the best masters." The premiere performance of Schicksalslied was given on 18 October 1871 in Karlsruhe, under the direction of Hermann Levi. One of the shortest of Brahms's major choral works, a typical performance lasts around 15 to 16 minutes.

The autograph manuscript of the work is preserved in the Library of Congress.

The piece is scored for two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, three trombones, timpani, strings, and a four-part chorus.

The work is in three movements, marked as follows:

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 ruh'n;
Es schwinden, es fallen
Die leidenden Menschen
Blindlings von einer
Stunde zur andern,
Wie Wasser von Klippe
Zu Klippe geworfen
Jahrlang ins Ungewisse hinab.

Ye wander gladly in light
Through goodly mansions, dwellers in Spiritland!
Luminous heaven-breezes
Touching you softly,
Like as fingers when skillfully
Wakening harp-strings.

Fearlessly, like the slumbering
Infant, abide the Beatified;
Pure retained,
Like unopened blossoms,
Flowering ever,
Joyful their soul
And their heavenly vision
Gifted with placid
Never-ceasing clearness.

To us is allotted
No restful haven to find;
They falter, they perish,
Poor suffering mortals
Blindly as moment
Follows to moment,
Like water from mountain
to mountain impelled,
Destined to disappearance below.