Much good is in it. Fount of Life’s in land of gloom.[404]
How can a mortal hope to raise his head from sleep,
When seeds of slothfulness are all he cares to reap?
The dead man’s sleep’s the body-snatcher’s open door.
Householders slumber, robbers rifle every floor.195
Thou knowest not who are thy foes around thee placed.
The imps of hell are enemies to man high graced.
The fire’s the foe of water and of water’s brood;
As water’s foe to fire, and drowns it in a flood.
To water, and its cousins all, the fire swears death;