Awake, My Little Ones, And Fill The

The Unbeliever Knows His Koran Best.

There Was A Door To Which I Found No Key: There Was The Veil Through Which I Might Not See.

And That Inverted Bowl They Call The Sky, Whereunder Crawling Cooped We Live And Die, Lift Not Your Hands To It For Help-for It As Impotently Moves As You Or I

When You Are So Full Of Sorrow That You Can't Walk, Can't Cry Anymore, Think About The Green Foliage That Sparkles After The Rain. When The Daylight Exhausts You, When You Hope A Final Night Will Cover The World, Think About The Awakening Of A Young Child.

The Revelations Of Devout And Learn'd Who Rose Before Us, And As Prophets Burn'd, Are All But Stories, Which, Awoke From Sleep They Told Their Comrades, And To Sleep Return'd.