FAUST
Shall I yield, thing of flame, to thee?
Faust, and thine equal, I am he!
SPIRIT
In the currents of life, in action's storm,
I float and I wave
With billowy motion!
Birth and the grave,
O limitless ocean,
A constant weaving
With change still rife,
A restless heaving,
A glowing life—-
Thus time's whirring loom unceasing I ply,
And weave the life-garment of deity.