I See Heaven's Glories Shine And Faith

Your Presence Is A Moral Poison That Would Contaminate The Most Virtuous

Terror Made Me Cruel; And Finding It Useless To Attempt Shaking The Creature Off, I Pulled Its Wrist On To The Broken Pane, And Rubbed It To And Fro Till The Blood Ran Down And Soaked The Bedclothes.

Still Let My Tyrants Know, I Am Not Doomed To Wear Year After Year In Gloom, And Desolate Despair; A Messenger Of Hope Comes Every Night To Me, And Offers For Short Life, Eternal Liberty.

No Coward Soul Is Mine, No Trembler In The World's Storm-troubled Sphere.

I Am Now Quite Cured Of Seeking Pleasure In Society, Be It Country Or Town. A Sensible Man Ought To Find Sufficient Company In Himself.