For Neither Man Nor Angel Can Discern

God Has Set Labor And Rest, As Day And Night To Men Successive.

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

The End Then Of Learning Is To Repair The Ruins Of Our First Parents By Regaining To Know God Aright, And Out Of That Knowledge To Love Him, To Imitate Him, To Be Like Him, As We May The Nearest By Possessing Our Souls Of True Virtue, Which Being United To The Heavenly Grace Of Faith Makes Up The Highest Perfection.

The Olive Grove Of Academe, Plato's Retirement, Where The Attic Bird Trills Her Thick-warbled Notes The Summer Long.

The Sun To Me Is Dark And Silent As The Moon, When She Deserts The Night Hid In Her Vacant Interlunar Cave.