Space in place is fixed firm: ne’er could it fold.
But airy time e’er moves away; ne’er stays.
The tyrant says: “My shamed foe I now hold”
But has lost through his shame-inflicting ways.
Like fire is man: flares up, then subsides cold,
Who wins is one who low-lying e'er stays.
Th’events of time are like pastures, green-rolled,
Grazed, th’Lord decrees its green, and re-displays.
If child ends up in dust of death, why may
Mothers toil just it for long life to mould
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