Will you be my refuge, My haven in the storm, Will you keep the embers warm, When my fire's all but gone? Will you remember, And bring me sprigs of rosemary, Be my sanctuary, 'Til I can carry on, Carry on.
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Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise from outward things, what e’er you may believe. There is an inmost center in us all, Where truth abides in fullness . . . and to know, Rather consists in opening out a way Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape, Than in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without.