“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.”