Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.

Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.

God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more that the restraint of ten vicious.

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.

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?

Our reason is our law.