Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.
Hard are the ways of truth, and rough to walk.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.
Tears such as angels weep.
Nothing profits more than self-esteem, grounded on what is just and right.
First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.