Tis Sweet To Listen As The Night

Oh Who Can Tell, Save He Whose Heart Hath Tried.

Man Is In Part Divine, A Troubled Stream From A Pure Source.

Yet Still There Whispers The Small Voice Within, Heard Through Gain's Silence, And O'er Glory's Din; Whatever Creed Be Taught Or Land Be Trod, Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

'tis Very Certain The Desire Of Life Prolongs It.

So Do The Dark In Soul Expire, Or Live Like Scorpion Girt By Fire; So Writhes The Mind Remorse Hath Riven, Unfit For Earth, Undoom'd For Heaven, Darkness Above, Despair Beneath, Around It Flame, Within It Death.