“Why must we only toil,
The roof and crown of things?”
– the inner spirit cries.
“All things must toil.”
– signs the wild world over.
“Leaves covert, grass reaches,
Rivers run mile on mile, waves lay shift on shift.
All things must toil, and strive
Till Kingdom come – the breath all things hope for,
When, upon priestly descent,
Every inch is crowned, eternal rest abounding,
And every crown is then returned.”