There's where thy soul its heavenly garb assumes, of which this dust of earth is too gross its frame to build.
49
This life is but the Pathway that unto freedom leads, from pains and greivous sorrows, to where the soul is free.
To roam to worlds and spheres sublime and gather there from off the vines those ripened grapes for wine.
From limits then it's freed and towards its sun it soars, and there in bliss supreme that soul in god is merged.
50
Thus the body is a tent wherein the soul a day or so must dwell, when Death again that life relieves,
And that freed soul above must speed to some new realm of thought unknown to it.