Truth takes no account of centuries.
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.