Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.
My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
Enflamed with the study of learning and the admiration of virtue; stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages.
Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower.