Some syllables are swords.
They are all gone into the world of light, and I alone sit lingering here.
I saw Eternity the other night Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm as it was bright.
To God, thy country, and thy friend be true.
Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just.
Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there.