Many a house of life
Hath held me—seeking ever him who wrought
These prisons of the senses, sorrow fraught;
Love was my senseless strife.
But now,
Thou builder of this tabernacle—Thou!
I know thee! Never shalt thou build again
These walls of pain,
Nor raise the roof-tree of deceits, nor lay
Fresh rafters on the clay;
Broken thy house is, and the ridge pole spilt!
Delusion fashioned it!
Safe pass I thence—deliverance to obtain.
—
