In This Life He Laughs

God Warms His Hands At Man's Heart When He Prays.

So Death Obscures Your Gentle Form, So Memory Strives To Make The Darkness Bright; And, In That Heap Of Rocks, Your Body Lies, Part Of The Island Till The Planet Ends, My Gentle Comrade, Beautiful And Wise, Part Of This Crag This Bitter Surge Offends, While I, Who Pass, A Little Obscure Thing, War With This Force, And Breathe, And Am Its King.

Man's Body Is Faulty, His Mind Untrustworthy, But His Imagination Has Made Him Remarkable.

What Am I, Life? A Thing Of Watery Salt Held In Cohesion By Unresting Cells, Which Work They Know Not Why, Which Never Halt, Myself Unwitting Where Their Master Dwells?

I Must Go Down To The Sea Again For The Call Of The Running Tide It's A Wild Call And A Clear Call That May Not Be Denied.