Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.
Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.