The death-change comes. Death is another life. We bow our heads At going out, we think, and enter straight Another golden chamber of the king's Larger than this we leave, and lovelier. And then in shadowy glimpses, disconnect, The story, flower-like, closes thus its leaves. The will of God is all in all. He makes, Destroys, remakes, for His own pleasure, all.
Remember that thy heart will shed its pleasures as thine eye its tears, and both leave loathsome furrows.
Youth might be wise; we suffer less from pains than pleasures.
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