Now that the Heavenly abode is a desert (for us)
Sweep away the dust, you must cultivate the river in the garden
When, tomorrow, the world decks itself with the carpet of gladness
How can we call back the travellers who have passed away


Th 873

Now Eden's Heaven doth but a waste remain
(A day's work should two garden plots sustain.)
To-morrow since the world is bright and fair,
How should we bring back yesterday again?

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