Hold On. Hope Hard. - Robert Browning

Paracelsus

At times I almost dream
I too have spent a life the sages’ way,
And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance
I perished in an arrogant self-reliance
Ages ago; and in that act a prayer
For one more chance went up so earnest, so
Instinct with better light let in by death,
That life was blotted out — not so completely
But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,
Dim memories, as now, when once more seems
The goal in sight again.

The body sprang
At once to the height, and stayed; but the soul,—no!

Grime is grace
To whoso gropes amid the dung for gold.