Thy purity no act can e’er abase.
Deep passion broods pent up, in matter dark;
Death comes, and there upon his gliding bark
Reality appears; soul finds its own—
Pure Love released, unmasked, stands forth alone.
By man has time been made the gauge of Earth.
What cares the soul in realm of spirit birth
How oft around spin globes above, below?
Of happiness do beings weary grow?
Must they return—again to feel the throes