That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A tymbal’s sound were better than my voice;
My faith were form; my eloquence were noise.
*****
Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
Its proper bounds and due restriction knows,
To one fixt purpose dedicates its power,
And finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus in obedience to what heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy decrease,