O’er the changed brow—the moving lips behold—

Linking thee unto speech—the feet that run

Upon thy errands, and the deeds that stamp

Thy lineage plain before the noon-day sun;

Look to the pen that writes thy history down

In those tremendous books that ne’er unclose

Until the day of doom, and blush to see

How vain thy trust in darkness to repose,

Where all things tend to judgment. So beware,

O, erring human heart! what thought thou lodgest there.