Oh, when will death (now stingless), like a friend,
Admit me of their choir? Oh, when will death
This mouldering, old, partition-wall throw down?
Give beings, one in nature, one abode?
O Death divine! that givest us to the skies! 660
Great future! glorious patron of the past,
And present! when shall I thy shrine adore?
From nature’s continent, immensely wide,
Immensely bless’d, this little isle of life,
This dark, incarcerating colony, 665