O Dark, Dark, Dark, Amid The Blaze

Me Miserable! Which Way Shall I Fly Infinite Wrath And Infinite Despair? Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell; And In The Lowest Deep A Lower Deep, Still Threat'ning To Devour Me, Opens Wide, To Which The Hell I Suffer Seems A Heaven.

And Fast By, Hanging In A Golden Chain, This Pendent World, In Bigness As A Star Of Smallest Magnitude, Close By The Moon.

Deep Vers'd In Books, And Shallow In Himself.

And Looks Commercing With The Skies, Thy Rapt Soul Sitting In Thine Eyes.

Peace Hath Her Victories, No Less Renowned Than War.