Know, Man Hath All Which

Art Still Has Truth. Take Refuge There.

Physician Of The Iron Age, Goethe Has Done His Pilgrimage. He Took The Suffering Human Race, He Read Each Wound, Each Weakness Clear -- And Struck His Finger On The Place, And Said -- Thou Ailest Here, And Here.

Come To Me In My Dreams, And Then By Day I Shall Be Well Again. For Then The Night Will More Than Pay The Hopeless Longing Of The Day.

Know, Man Hath All Which Nature Hath, But More, And In That More Lie All His Hopes Of Good.

Most Men Eddy About Here And There-eat And Drink, Chatter And Love And Hate, Gather And Squander, Are Raised Aloft, Are Hurled In The Dust, Striving Blindly, Achieving Nothing; And Then They Die- Perish;-and No One Asks Who Or What They Have Been.