And vapid; sense and reason show the door,
Call for my bier, and point me to the dust.
O thou great arbiter of life and death!
Nature’s immortal, immaterial Sun!
Whose all-prolific beam late call’d me forth 140
From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay
The worm’s inferior, and, in rank, beneath
The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow,
To drink the spirit of the golden day,
And triumph in existence; and could know