You may by the sun see most clearly,
And by each of the other orbs of heaven
That shine most brightly over the boroughs,
If a dark cloud comes before them
They cannot give forth such a bright gleam
Till the thick mist grow thinner before them.
So too the south breeze fiercely stirs
The calm grey ocean clear as glass;
Then mighty billows mingle the waters,
Stir the whale-sea; fierce waxes ocean
That but shortly before was blithe to look on.
Often too the well-spring is wont to trickle
From the hoar cliff, cool and sparkling,
And onward flowing a straight course follows,
To its home fleets, till there falls upon it
A rock from the mountain, that lies in its midst
Rolled from the peak; parted in twain
The rill is broken, the brook's clear water
Stirred and clouded; the stream is turned
Away from its course, cleft into runnels.
So now the darkness that dims your heart
Wishes to turn back the light of my teaching,
And sorely trouble your spirit's thoughts.
But if you are willing, as well you may be,
The light of the truth clearly to learn,
The brightness of faith, then shall you forsake
Vain surfeit of pleasure, profitless joys.
