Breathing  air,untainted,heavenly,As it lifts its arms on high ,Earth,simpure ,deliled          affections Ne,er the vine may occupy .Facing sacrifice ,yet smiliing .And while love doth prune

                 once more,Strokes it bears as if it never Suffered loss and pain before

                He who treats himself severely Is the best for  to gain;

               He who hurts himself most dearly Most can comfort those in pain.

               Is but empty ,sounding brass,He who self-life never spareth

                Has the joys which all surpass.