Haste and portray’ our sand runs fast;
Death’s mandate may come, and life may be past.
Query to the High Spirits.
Throughout the azure realms of space
Do blessed spirits cheerly fly
To orbs too far for thoughts to reach,
Or Ross’ reflector to descry?
Or bide they near their natal orb,
To mingle with their mundane friends,
Striving their minds to impress with truth