My wisdom's A and final O Was then the sound that smote mine ear. Yet now it rings no longer so, My youth's eternal Ah! and Oh! Is now the only sound I hear.[2] 37. _Foresight._ In yonder region travelling, take good care! An hast thou wit, then be thou doubly ware! They'll smile and lure thee; then thy limbs they'll tear: Fanatics' country this where wits are rare! 38. _The Pious One Speaks._ God loves us, _for_ he made us, sent us here!-- "Man hath made God!" ye subtle ones reply. His handiwork he must hold dear, And _what he made_ shall he deny? There sounds the devil's halting hoof, I fear. 39. _In Summer._ In sweat of face, so runs the screed, We e'er must eat our bread, Yet wise physicians if we heed "Eat naught in sweat," 'tis said. The dog-star's blinking: what's his need? What tells his blazing sign? In sweat of face (so runs _his_ screed) We're meant to drink our wine! 40. _Without Envy._ His look betrays no envy: and ye laud him? He cares not, asks not if your throng applaud him! He has the eagle's eye for distance far, He sees you not, he sees but star on star! 41. _Heraclitism._ Brethren, war's the origin Of happiness on earth: Powder-smoke and battle-din Witness friendship's birth! Friendship means three things, you know,-- Kinship in luckless plight, Equality before the foe Freedom--in death's sight! 42. _Maxim of the Over-refined._ "Rather on your toes stand high Than crawl upon all fours, Rather through the keyhole spy Than through the open doors!" 43. _Exhortation._ Renown you're quite resolved to earn? My thought about it Is this: you need not fame, must learn To do without it! 44. _Thorough._ I an inquirer? No, that's not my calling Only _I weigh a lot_--I'm such a lump!-- And through the waters I keep falling, falling, Till on the ocean's deepest bed I bump. 45. _The Immortals._ "To-day is meet for me, I come to-day," Such is the speech of men foredoomed to stay. "Thou art too soon," they cry, "thou art too late," What care the Immortals what the rabble say? 46. _Verdicts of the Weary._ The weary shun the glaring sun, afraid, And only care for trees to gain the shade. 47. _Descent._ "He sinks, he falls," your scornful looks portend: The truth is, to your level he'll descend. His Too Much Joy is turned to weariness, His Too Much Light will in your darkness end. 48.