'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls.
Thought is the soul of act.
The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.
My sun sets to rise again.
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.
'Tis only when they spring to Heaven that angels reveal themselves to you.