Wrapped in the blanket of hope, I slept long. I dreamt that I was sitting on a throne. My face held a bouquet of smiles. My smiles withered, and the petals of merriment dropped, one by one. Then suddenly, I beheld myself in rags, sitting on the hard stones of poverty. I cried, and my teardrops fell on the unheeding, unrelenting stones of my circumstances.
The world passed me by in mocking silence. I cried for Thy help. Thou didst wake me at last, through the force of my gathered cries. I laughed to find myself neither rich nor poor.
So do Thou wake me from this dream of smiling opulence and crying poverty.
Deliver me, O Maker of dream-worlds, from the ugly nightmares of death!
Wake in me immortality: Wake in me unshaken calmness, that I may know that the fierce terrors of mundane delusion are but dreams.