Was then transferr’d to death; and heaven’s duration
Unalienably seal’d to this frail frame,
This child of dust—Man, all-immortal! hail;
Hail, Heaven! all lavish of strange gifts to man!
Thine all the glory; man’s the boundless bliss. 300
Where am I rapt by this triumphant theme?
On Christian joy’s exulting wing, above
Th’ Aonian mount?—Alas! small cause for joy!
What if to pain immortal? if extent
Of being, to preclude a close of woe?