If Thou Follow Thy Star,

They Yearn For What They Fear For.

I Found Myself Within A Forest Dark, For The Straightfoward Pathway Had Been Lost. Ah Me! How Hard A Thing Is To Say, What Was This Forest Savage, Rough, And Stern, Which In The Very Thought Renews The Fear. So Bitter Is It, Death Is Little More.

Do Ye Not Comprehend That We Are Worms Born To Bring Forth The Angelic Butterfly That Flieth Unto Judgment Without Screen?

Pure Essence, And Pure Matter, And The Two Joined Into One Were Shot Forth Without Flaw, Like Three Bright Arrows From A Three-string Bow.

O How Far Remov'd, Predestination! Is Thy Foot From Such As See Not The First Cause Entire: And Ye, O Mortal Men! Be Wary How Ye Judge: For We, Who See The Maker, Know Not Yet The Number Of The Chosen; And Esteem Such Scantiness Of Knowledge Our Delight: For All Good Is, In That Primal Good, Concentrate; And God's Will And Ours Are One.