If things go ill or well-  
If joy rebounding spreads the face,  
Or sea of sorrows swells-  
It is a dream, a play.  

A play- we each have a part  
Each one to weep or laugh as may;  
Each one his dress to don-  
Alternate shine or rain. 

Thou dream, O blessed dream!  
Spread far and near thy veil of haze,  
Tone down the lines so sharp,  
Make smooth what roughness seems.  

No magic but in thee!  
Thy touch makes desert bloom to life,  
Harsh thunder, sweetest song,  
Fell death, the sweet release. 


-Swami Vivekananda