By fire of trial those crude humours must be changed.

By fire of trial those crude humours must be changed. ’Tis fire matures the crude. Let absence be the fire, Shall purge thee of thyself, burn out all selfish mire." Away he went in anguish; travelled a whole year; Saw not his friend; so pined with yearning, anxious fear; Matured his soul with suffering's searching throes and pains. Then sought the door from whence he'd been repulsed, again.

50 He knocked anew,-his heart with many fears oppressed, Lest from his lip some word unwelcome drop confessed. Within, the question's heard: "Who knocks at my street door?" He answered: "Thy own second self;-though all too poor." The invitation followed: "Let myself walk in. My cot's too small for two selves to find room therein. The thread's not double in a needle's single eye. As thou’rt now single, enter. Room thou’lt find.

Pray, try!" The thread and needle have relation, each to each; 55 For needle's eye a camel's far beyond all reach. How shall a camel ever be so fine and slim Unless long fasting his redundant flesh should skim? The hand of God is wanted, then, to make it pass The God who by His word creates both man and grass. Impossibilities are possibles to Him; The stubbornest is docile when His will curbs whim.

The blind from birth, the leper, e’en the dead, arise, Whole, sound, whene’er th’ Omnipotent "Come forth" but cries. E’en non-existence, death of death, at His command, 60 Starts into life, compelled by His supreme demand. Recite, my friend: "Each day He's busied with a work:" 1 And know, He's never idle, unemployed to lurk. His smallest daily toil,-a work like pleasure still,- Is to send forth three armies, bound to work His will.

One, from the loins of spheres the elements to stir; So that all plants may vegetate, from moss to fir. One, from the wombs of mothers to earth's surface prone, That male and female may increase, not lie like stone. The third hence wends its way to sepulchre's dread bourn, 65 There to receive, at length, reward; and joy, or mourn. Leave we this theme;-’tis endless,-never would have done. Let's see, now, how the friends enjoyed themselves alone.

Our host invites his guest to enter, free from scorn: "Thou’rt welcome, self of mine! We're not like rose and thorn. Our thread is single,-free from knots and tangle; done, As 'Be,' though duplex as to form, in sense is one." That "Be" ’s a rope, of power collective, to the end That nullity may be united to a friend.