Woe is, and pain, and men grow old thereby,
And divers lusts bring divers ills to all,
And through our lusts it is we trip and fall
And through our lusts it is that many die:—
This much of knowledge have I perfectly—
A hard creed, but believed by every man—
A true creed, tho' no man dare call it so—
A truth beginning when the world began—
A truth that ends with the world's overthrow:
And I have learnt it and believe and know.
But more remaineth for us—This it is
(Or else life were a torment none could cure)
Oh Brethren! how so long our ills endure
Be comforted, for after woe is bliss—
Be comforted, 'the end of bale is bliss'