Nor Love Thy Life, Nor Hate; But

A Man May Be Ungrateful, But The Human Race Is Not So.

As Children Gath'ring Pebbles On The Shore. Or If I Would Delight My Private Hours With Music Or With Poem, Where So Soon As In Our Native Language Can I Find That Solace?

Knowledge Cannot Defile, Nor Consequently The Books, If The Will And Conscience Be Not Defiled.

All Hope Is Lost Of My Reception Into Grace; What Worse? For Where No Hope Is Left, Is Left No Fear.

Heaven Open'd Wide Her Ever During Gates, Harmonious Sound, On Golden Hinges Moving.