Without Minute Neatness Of Execution, The Sublime

Better To Shun The Bait Than Struggle In The Snare.

England! Awake! Awake! Awake! Jerusalem Thy Sister Calls! Why Wilt Thou Sleep The Sleep Of Death And Close Her From Thy Ancient Walls?

Can I See Another's Woe, And Not Be In Sorrow Too? Can I See Another's Grief, And Not Seek For Kind Relief?

Struggling In My Father's Hands, Striving Against My Swaddling Bands, Bound And Weary, I Thought Best To Sulk Upon My Mother's Breast.

To Create A Little Flower Is The Labour Of Ages.