We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.
Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?
How good is man's life, the mere living! How fit to employ all the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!
A man in armour is his armour's slave.
Day! Faster and more fast. O'er night's brim, day boils at last.
Rejoice that man is hurled, From change to change unceasingly, His soul's wings never furled!