In Ourselves Are Triumph And Defeat.

To Be Left Alone, And Face To Face With My Own Crime, Had Been Just Retribution.

Torrent Of Light And River Of Air, Along Whose Bed The Glimmering Stars Are Seen, Like Gold And Silver Sands In Some Ravine Where Mountain Streams Have Left Their Channels Bare!

It Is Lucifer, The Son Of Mystery; And Since God Suffers Him To Be, He Too, Is God's Minister, And Labors For Some Good By Us Not Understood.

In Ourselves Are Triumph And Defeat.

The Gentle Wind, A Sweet And Passionate Wooer, Kisses The Blushing Leaf.