Infinity Is A Dark Illimitable Ocean, Without

What Call Thou Solitude? Is Not The Earth With Various Living Creatures, And The Air Replenished, And All These At Thy Command To Come And Play Before Thee?

It Was The Winter Wild, While The Heaven-born Child, All Meanly Wrapt In The Rude Manger Lies.

A Death-like Sleep, A Gentle Wafting To Immortal Life.

Unless An Age Too Late, Or Cold Climate, Or Years, Damp My Intended Wing.

For Other Things Mild Heav'n A Time Ordains, And Disapproves That Care, Though Wise In Show, That With Superfluous Burden Loads The Day, And When God Sends A Cheerful Hour, Refrains.