Song of the Angles

As yet the Reason is unbridled, and Love is on the road: O Architect of Eternity! Your design is incomplete.

Drunkards, jurists, princes and priests all sit in ambush upon Your common folk: The days in Your world haven’t changed as yet.

Your rich are too unmindful, Your poor too content— The slave as yet frets in the street, the master’s walls are still too high.

Learning, religion, science and art are all means to fulfill lust: The grace of Love—the redeemer—is not as yet bestowed upon all.

The essence of Life is Love, the essence of Love is the self; Alas! This cutting sword as yet rests in the sheath!