And what profit hath he That hath laboured for the wind? For who can search for it and find, And what man hold its brief breath; It is more transient than snow, Which in one small hour is gone. And a man who had the need, Where would he search? What is the source of it, And what the end; For even as it comes from nowhere, It goes also to nowhere; For it has no North or South, No East or West, But abides equally with all of these, And is one with the child and the old man.