Death from sin no power can separate.
Yet hold it more humane, more heav'nly, first, By winning words to conquer willing hearts, And make persuasion do the work of fear.
The spirits perverse with easy intercourse pass to and fro, to tempt or punish mortals.
O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round
It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.