There Was A Door To

For In And Out, Above, About, Below, 'tis Nothing But A Magic Shadow-show, Played In A Box Whose Candle Is The Sun, Round Which We Phantom Figures Come And Go.

The Wine-cup Is The Little Silver Well, Where Truth, If Truth There Be, Doth Dwell.

Why Ponder Thus The Future To Foresee, And Jade Thy Brain To Vain Perplexity? Cast Off Thy Care, Leave Allah’s Plans To Him – He Formed Them All Without Consulting Thee.

The Moving Finger Writes; And, Having Writ, Moves On: Nor All Your Piety Nor Wit Shall Lure It Back To Cancel Half A Line, Nor All Your Tears Wash Out A Word Of It.

By The Help Of God And With His Precious Assistance, I Say That Algebra Is A Scientific Art. The Objects With Which It Deals Are Absolute Numbers And Measurable Quantities Which, Though Themselves Unknown, Are Related To "things" Which Are Known, Whereby The Determination Of The Unknown Quantities Is Possible.