Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
The child is father of the man.
One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.