And, like the bowls, when full, they cannot choose but sink.
The wind’s invisible; a world without, we see.
Our bodies are the waves or drops of that vast sea.
Whatever means our bodies seek to grasp, anon,
A billow drives it far; no sooner seen than gone.230
Until our hearts perceive the Giver of all good,
The swiftly-flying bolt shot far from o’er the flood,
They hold their coursers to be lost; and out of spite,
They push their roadsters hastily, as thoughts invite.
They hold their coursers to be lost; and all the while