The Spirit of Life flows and blows where she will,
and then stands still;
And who can say where she may arise again; who can
hold her at bay?
And who can trace her course in the world, running
like the wild horse?
And who, so blind, can see her, so unrefined, and
Bind her, confine her?
And who can resist her when she so strongly persists,
Insists upon obeisance?
No funeral dirge is ever sung for her as she has just
begun again to play, never to stay the day in one
place within human understanding and pandering
to shame wisdom.
Ah! Can you throttle the wind? Can you bottle the God,
And send her where you will? Bend the Spirit and mend
Breach long-standing and strong, and you so wrong?
Nay! The Spirit of Life flows and blows where she will…