Seek not tangible work of hands

Bountiful good of lands

Seek not sweat of effort on brow

Milk and honey

sweet culture scent 

brew ferment

Dew drop pure, nor lament

Seek not revelling aching 

limb and ligament

Slaving till reckoning day

Clutching dear at.most.fear

Seek diligently

Hidden – heard and felt

In the realm of angels 

A World within One self.

For this we silently slave

Driving apathy away

Drilling at walls that form

In thin air

Suspended in a thick 

blanket of despair

That clouds the eyes 

marks our stare

One name desires us, 

pierces our side

He asks us ‘Do you dare?’

What we see here is

Swings and roundabouts

The universe

The sea

The atmosphere

Heaven declares the unseen


Fear not.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

“All mankind is of one author, and is one volume;

when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book,

but translated into a better language;

and every chapter must be so translated;

God employs several translators;

some pieces are translated by age,

some by sickness, some by war, some by justice;

but God’s hand is in every translation,

and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves

again for that library where every book

shall lie open to one another.

No man is an island, entire of itself;

every man is a piece of the continent,

a part of the main…

any man’s death diminishes me,

because I am involved in mankind,

and therefore never send to know

for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

No man hath affliction enough

that is not matured and ripened by it,

and made fit for God by that affliction.”

Meditation #17 By John Donne From Devotions upon Emergent Occasions (1623), XVII:
Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris (Now this bell, tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die.)

Read the whole Meditation here