The fool impatient of control,
Must prove himself in every strife;
Age finds him with a withered soul,
Exhausted in the nets of life.

Not Nature only he defies,
The forces from of old obeyed,
But ever lifts the bitterest cries
Against the bonds himself hath made.

The wise man sees in every let
The purpose of the soul made plain,
A warning and a signal set
To point it to its own domain.

The wise man storms not nor complains,
But lets his quiet spirit shine,
And knows himself beyond his chains
A boundless mood of the divine.