A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold, And pavement stars,--as stars to thee appear Seen in the galaxy, that milky way Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest Powder'd with stars.

Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.

Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.

Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is.

With thee conversing I forget all time.

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?

From Man or Angel the great Architect Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge, His secrets, to be scanned by them who ought Rather admire. Or, if they list to try Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens Hath left to their disputes - perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide Hereafter, when they come to model Heaven And calculate the stars: how they will wield The mighty frame: how build, unbuild, contrive To save appearances; how gird the Sphere With Centric and Eccentric scribbled o'er, Cycle and Epicycle, Orb in Orb.