Their voyage interrupted by a crime,
But when the Lord takes, he that is bereft
Finds consolation if he finds the time.
All pleasure is but let by worldly lease,
All things must pass, even the present tense,
The future perfect holds no lasting peace
And pain is purely Satan’s recompense.
The heart is unreliable; the mind
Is merely madness ordered; but the soul
Gives sacramental eyesight to the blind
Whose fragments faith and charity make whole.
Thus happiness is borne by those who dream
Of misery enjoyed, and love supreme.
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