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!