Which, If Not Victory, Is Yet Revenge.

Who Would Not, Finding Way, Break Loose From Hell, . . . . And Boldly Venture To Whatever Place Farthest From Pain?

The World Was All Before Them, Where To Choose Their Place Of Rest, And Providence Their Guide: They Hand In Hand, With Wandering Steps And Slow, Through Eden Took Their Solitary Way.

But Now My Task Is Smoothly Done, I Can Fly, Or I Can Run Quickly To The Green Earth's End, Where The Bow'd Welkin Slow Doth Bend, And From Thence Can Soar As Soon To The Corners Of The Moon.

The Earth, Though In Comparison Of Heaven So Small, Nor Glistering, May Of Solid Good Contain More Plenty Than The Sun, That Barren Shines.

Morn, Wak'd By The Circling Hours, With Rosy Hand Unbarr'd The Gates Of Light.