Creatures of clay, vain dwellers in the dust,
lonely, we roam like the cloud, the wind, the wave,
Nor will of man, nor blood, nor birth, nor death
Can raise a soul to heaven, only love, the new creation,
and all we see is a shadow of things unseen, and time that comes to flee Is but the broken echo of a rhyme
In heart’s great epic of Eternity.
Heedless and blind to Wisdom’s wasted light!