Thy task unfinished—so was I bom mad;
So was my perfect soul a bondsman made
To serve vile lusts of my imperfect brain.
Hast Thou to-day remembered Thy mistake?
This mom I wakened, found that I was sane,
Beheld the East as no unchartered dread
Threat'ning the world with universal fire,
But as Thy kindness held aloft for men;
Then craned I forth my hands to dutch Thy winds,
Nor shrank from them as fore-runners of Death.