In The Middle Of The Journey Of

Be As A Tower Firmly Set; Shakes Not Its Top For Any Blast That Blows.

If Anyone Should Want To Know My Name, I Am Called Leah. And I Spend All My Time Weaving Garlands Of Flowers With My Fair Hands, T O Please Me When I Stand Before The Mirror; My Sister Rachel Sits All The Day Long Before Her Own, And Never Moves Away. She Loves To Contemplate Her Lovely Eyes; I Love To Use My Hands To Adorn Myself: Her Joy Is In Reflection, Mine In Act.

And When He Had Put His Hand On Mine With A Cheerful Look, Wherefrom I Took Courage, He Brought Me Within To The Secret Things. Here Sighs, Laments, And Deep Wailings Were Resounding Through The Starless Air; Wherefore At First I Wept Thereat. Strange Tongues, Horrible Utterances, Words Of Woe, Accents Of Anger, Voices High And Faint, And Sounds Of Hands With Them, Were Making A Tumult Which Whirls Always In That Air Forever Dark, Like The Sand When The Whirlwind Breathes.

The Infernal Storm, Eternal In Its Rage, Sweeps And Drives The Spirits With Its Blast; It Whirls Them, Lashing Them With Punishment. When They Are Swept Back Past Their Place Of Judgment Then Come The Shrieks, Laments, And Anguished Cries; There They Blaspheme God's Almighty Power.

O Human Race, Born To Fly Upward, Wherefore At A Little Wind Dost Thou So Fall?