Wait ye the warning?
Our low life was the level’s and the night’s:
He’s for the morning.
Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head,
’Ware the beholders!
This is our master, famous, calm, and dead,
Borne on our shoulders.
“This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed
Seeking shall find him.
So, with the throttling hands of death at strife,