Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
Every one soon or late comes round by Rome.
In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to believe.
Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.
Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
White shall not neutralize the black, nor good compensate bad in man, absolve him so; life's business being just the terrible choice.