In insincerities, worse than negations;
And for what blessing are the earth's laudations?
The grace to soul to scorn to be mere thing.
Oh, of this grace was born the Eagle's vim
To dash the Dragon down in hell so deep,
It is a maggot there, which can but creep;
And draw Elias' chariot to Earth's rim,
Wherein Saint George stands with his heart a-leap—
As, now, in labor, we catch glimpse of him.
