How Narrow Is The Vision

Your Daily Life Is Your Temple And Your Religion. When You Enter Into It Take With You Your All.

And Is Not The Lute That Soothes Your Spirit The Very Wood That Was Hollowed With Knives?

Man Is Like The Foam Of The Sea, That Floats Upon The Surface Of The Water. When The Wind Blows, It Vanishes, As If It Had Never Been. Thus Are Our Lives Blown Away By Death.

You, The Strong, Have I Loved, Though The Marks Of Your Iron Hoofs Are Yet Upon My Flesh.

Yet Has Not Man Wept At The Sounds? And Are Not His Tears Eloquent Understanding?