Is there no rock, on which man’s tossing thought 908
Can rest from terror, dare his fate survey,
And boldly think it something to be born?
Amid such hourly wrecks of being fair,
Is there no central, all-sustaining base,
All-realising, all-connecting power,
Which, as it call’d forth all things, can recall,
And force Destruction to refund her spoil?
Command the grave restore her taken prey?
Bid death’s dark vale its human harvest yield,