And keeps the palace of the soul.
Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.