Courage Never To Submit Of

From Restless Thoughts, That, Like A Deadly Swarm Of Hornets Arm'd, No Sooner Found Alone, But Rush Upon Me Thronging.

Who Aspires Must Down As Low As High He Soar'd.

Laws Can Discover Sin, But Not Remove It

So Dear I Love Him, That With Him, All Deaths I Could Endure, Without Him, Live No Life.

And That Must End Us, That Must Be Our Cure: To Be No More. Sad Cure! For Who Would Lose, Though Full Of Pain, This Intellectual Being, Those Thoughts That Wander Through Eternity, To Perish, Rather, Swallowed Up And Lost In The Wide Womb Of Uncreated Night Devoid Of Sense And Motion?