Her bed and board, her comfort, and her furniture.
The flesh, like woman, to be gratified still seeks;
Submissive sometimes; oft would play ambitious freaks.
The soul has no idea, itself, of such instinct;
But seeks to muse upon its love for God, distinct.380
Existence is the secret of their constant war;
The form in which ’tis waged thou’rt now about to hear.
Had psychic indication proved sufficient sign,
Material creation ’d been a useless coin.
Is love for God thy thought, aim, wish, design, intent?