Through strife the slumbering soul awakes, We learn on error's troubled route The truths we could not prize without The sorrow of our sad mistakes.

Give her not greatness. For great souls must stand Alone and lonely in this little world: Cleft rocks that show the great Creator's hand, Thither by earthquakes hurled.

God sent us here to make mistakes

Use all your hidden forces. Do not miss The purpose of this life, and do not wait For circumstance to mould or change your fate.

Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, your head like the golden rod, and we will go sailing away from here to the beautiful Land Of Nod.

Unwearied, and with springing steps elate, I had conveyed my wealth along the road. The empty sack proved now a heavier load: I was borne down beneath its worthless weight. I stumbled on, and knocked at Death's dark gate. There was no answer. Stung by sorrow's goad I forced my way into that grim abode, And laughed, and flung Life's empty sack to Fate.

I know there are no errors, In the great Eternal plan.