Wretches Hang That Jurymen May

Who Taught That Heaven-directed Spire To Rise?

Whate'er The Talents, Or Howe'er Designed, We Hang One Jingling Padlock On The Mind.

Seas Roll To Waft Me, Suns To Light Me Rise; My Footstool Earth, My Canopy The Skies.

New, Distant Scenes Of Endless Science Rise: So Pleas'd At First, The Towring Alps We Try.

Death, Only Death, Can Break The Lasting Chain; And Here, Ev'n Then, Shall My Cold Dust Remain