But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?
God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.
This could but have happened once,- And we missed it, lost it forever.
He who did well in war just earns the right, To begin doing well in peace.
How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad.