Men are not angels, neither are they brutes.
Let friend trust friends, and love demand love's like.
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
Man seeks his own good at the whole world's cost.
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.