Is it true, O Christ in heaven, that the highest suffer the most? That the strongest wander furthest and most hopelessly are lost? That the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain? That the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain?

Heaven is for thee too high To know what passes there; be lowly wise. Think only what concerns thee and thy being; Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there Live, in what state, condition, or degree, Contented that thus far hath been revealed.

A grateful mind/ By owing owes not, but still pays, at once/ Indebted and discharg'd.

Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss

From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.

Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!

To be weak is miserable, Doing or suffering.