Hath striven to cast his slough away.
Yea, and that long prayer is granted:
Yea, his soul is disenchanted.
O blest above the sons of men!
For thou, with more than Prophet’s ken,
Deep in the secrets of the tomb
Hast read thine own, thine endless doom;
Thou by the hand of the Most High
Art sealed for immortality.
So may I read thy story right,