Turn us, O God of Hosts, show us Thy countenance, and we shall be
whole. For whithersoever the soul of man turns itself, unless toward
Thee, it is riveted upon sorrows, yea though it is riveted on things
beautiful. And yet they, out of Thee, and out of the soul, were not,
unless they were from Thee. They rise, and set; and by rising, they
begin as it were to be; they grow, that they may be perfected; and
perfected, they wax old and wither; and all grow not old, but all
wither. So then when they rise and tend to be, the more quickly they
grow that they may be, so much the more they haste not to be. This
is the law of them. Thus much has Thou allotted them, because they are
portions of things, which exist not all at once, but by passing away
and succeeding, they together complete that universe, whereof they are
portions. And even thus is our speech completed by signs giving
forth a sound: but this again is not perfected unless one word pass
away when it hath sounded its part, that another may succeed. Out of
all these things let my soul praise Thee, O God, Creator of all; yet
let not my soul be riveted unto these things with the glue of love,
through the senses of the body.
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