4
THE Tao is like an empty bowl,
Which in being used can never be
filled up.
Fathomless, it seems to be the origin of all things.
It
blunts all sharp edges,
It unties all tangles,
It harmonises all
lights,
It unites the world into one whole.
Hidden in the
deeps,
Yet it seems to exist for ever.
I do not know whose child it
is;
It seems to be the common ancestor of all, the father
of
things.
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