Let us confide ourselves to the Great One.
The firmament exists, the stars go on their way,
And the sun shines upon us every day;
And every day, the day is lost in night,
Without our knowing aught else from the sight.
That the seasons come, the crops are ripe,
And in what wood we should look out for snipe,
And some few other things, but for the change
Of day to night, by which the world doth range,
It has not aught to do with Destiny.