All had been spun on the self same wheel, all to the earth their lives will yield,
Except their beauty and perfume, which with their souls to him have gone.
88
All is thus spun by the potter on his wheel, in his shop the universe, wherein he grinds, then kneads, then fires the lives of all, into shapes and things most lovable.
Naught doth he waste in all his works, for what he maketh unto today he maketh unto eternity.
89
Thus do all things speak of him in praise, lord of heaven, creator and the grave,
[36]Of whom priests and warriors but his diet form with death for seasoning.