The Worst Of Slaves Is He Whom

For Cambridge People Rarely Smile, Being Urban, Squat, And Packed With Guile.

One May Not Doubt That, Somehow Good Shall Come Of Water And Of Mud; And Sure, The Reverent Eye Must See A Purpose In Liquidity.

But Only Agony, And That Has Ending; And The Worst Friend And Enemy Is But Death.

Love Is A Breach In The Walls, A Broken Gate, Love Sells The Proud Heart's Citadel To Fate.

Spend In Pure Converse Our Eternal Day; Think Each In Each, Immediately Wise; Learn All We Lacked Before; Hear, Know, And Say What This Tumultuous Body Now Denies; And Feel, Who Have Laid Our Groping Hands Away; And See, No Longer Blinded By Our Eyes.