I. Threefold Is The March Of Time While The Future Slow Advances, Like A Dart The Present Glances, Silent Stands The Past Sublime. No Impatience E'Er Can Speed Him On His Course If He Delay; No Alarm, No Doubts Impede Him If He Keep His Onward Way; No Regrets, No Magic Numbers Wake The Tranced One From His Slumbers. Wouldst Thou Wisely And With Pleasure, Pass The Days Of Life'S Short Measure, From The Slow One Counsel Take, But A Tool Of Him Ne'er Make; Ne'er As Friend The Swift One Know, Nor The Constant One As Foe! Ii. Threefold Is The Form Of Space: Length, With Ever Restless Motion, Seeks Eternity'S Wide Ocean; Breadth With Boundless Sway Extends; Depth To Unknown Realms Descends. All As Types To Thee Are Given; Thou Must Onward Strive For Heaven, Never Still Or Weary Be Would'St Thou Perfect Glory See; Far Must Thy Researches Go. Wouldst Thou Learn The World To Know; Thou Must Tempt The Dark Abyss Wouldst Thou Prove What Being Is. Naught But Firmness Gains The Prize, Naught But Fulness Makes Us Wise, Buried Deep, Truth Ever Lies!