Everything Has An End, If Only You

Ah! How Little Knowledge Does A Man Acquire In His Life. He Gathers It Up Like Water, But Like Water It Runs Between His Fingers, And Yet, If His Hands Be But Wet As Though With Dew, Behold A Generation Of Fools Call Out, 'see, He Is A Wise Man!' Is It Not So?

I Am Not A Nervous Man In A General Way, And Very Little Troubled With Superstitions, Of Which I Have Lived To See The Folly.

Now, After These Things Were Done, The Pharaoh And His Queen Drove Through The Hosts Of Egypt In Their Golden Chariot, And Received The Homage Of The Hosts Ere They Departed Northwards For Thebes. At Nightfall They Returned Again And Sat Side By Side At The Marriage Feast, And Once More Tua Swept Her Harp Of Ivory And Gold, And Sang The Ancient Song Of Him Who Dared Much For Love, And Won The Prize.

Truly Wealth, Which Men Spend All Their Lives In Acquiring, Is A Valueless Thing At The Last.

Man Doeth This And Doeth That From The Good Or Evil Of His Heart; But He Knows Not To What End His Sense Doth Prompt Him; For When He Strikes He Is Blind To Where The Blow Shall Fall, Nor Can He Count The Airy Threads That Weave The Web Of Circumstance. Good And Evil, Love And Hate, Night And Day, Sweet And Bitter, Man And Woman, Heaven Above And The Earth Beneath--all Those Things Are Needful, One To The Other, And Who Knows The End Of Each?