For which alone Inanimate was made,
More sparingly dispensed? that nobler son,
Far liker the great Sire!—’Tis thus the skies
Inform us of superiors numberless,
As much, in excellence, above mankind,
As above earth, in magnitude, the spheres.
These, as a cloud of witnesses, hang o’er us;
In a throng’d theatre are all our deeds; 898
Perhaps, a thousand demigods descend
On every beam we see, to walk with men.