Paracelsus At times I almost dream I too have spent a life the sages’ way, And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance I perished in an arrogant self-reliance Ages ago; and in that act a prayer For one more chance went up so earnest, so Instinct with better light let in by death, That life was blotted out — not so completely But scattered wrecks enough of it remain, Dim memories, as now, when once more seems The goal in sight again.

He who did well in war just earns the right, To begin doing well in peace.

Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.

Fair or foul the lot apportioned life on earth, we bear alike.

Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.

Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.

In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to believe.