O Thou, whose lips sweeter than sugar remain?
Thou ever new life givest to this old world;
The prayer hear of one whom from life Thou hast hurled!
For heaven’s sake, quit talking of spring’s roses red,
And think of the nightingale banished their bed.
My eagerness grows not from joy, or from grief;
My senses cajoled will not be by whim’s thief.260
My state is just one very often not seen;
Contest not; truth’s ever victorious been.
Think not my state that of all these common men;