But turning trembles too.
And a desire to join in that prayer that the senses may be steeped in indifference, in which the poet says,
The tears which pity taught to flow,
My eyes shall then disown,
The heart, that throbb'd at others' wo,
Shall then scarce feel its own.
The wounds that now each moment bleed,
Each moment then shall close,
And tranquil days shall still succeed,
To nights of soft repose.