[00:07.30]Alfred, Lord Tennyson[00:07.31][00:07.33]Oh yet we trust that somehow good[00:13.29]Will be the final goal of ill,[00:19.57]at last, far off, at last, to all,[00:26.39]and every winter turn to spring.[00:33.87]That nothing walks with aimless feet;[00:41.55]that not one life shall be destroy,[00:48.69]or cast as rubbish to the void.[00:54.78]when god hath made the world complete[01:06.85]oh[01:30.24]That not a worm is cloven in vain;[01:36.47]That not a moth with vain desire[01:43.13]Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire,[01:49.73]Or but subserves another's gain.[01:54.03][02:25.82]??????[02:53.67]Behold, we know not anything;[03:00.53]I can but trust that good shall fall[03:06.39]At last—far off—at last, to all,[03:13.10]And every winter change to spring.[03:18.31][03:22.14]So runs my dream: but what am I?[03:28.22]An infant crying in the night:[03:35.09]An infant crying for the light:[03:41.58]And with no language but a cry.[03:48.36][03:50.81]oh