As the darkness is purfled with fire-flies.
The feverish heaven with a stitch in the side,
Of lightning.
For Pray'r the Ocean is, where diversely
Men steer their course, each to a several coast,
Where all our interests so discordant be,
Half begging God for winds that
Would send the other half to hell.
As many blades of grass as be
In all thy horizontal round,