Last came the troubled question—what am I?
A blade, a sapling of the growth of life
Wherewith the outside of the earth is covered;
A comprehensive atom, all the world
In act of thought embracing; in the world
A grain scarce filling a particular place.
Henry Taylor.
Father, I know my frame is all composed
Of elements that perish; and I know
The bondage whereunto my grovelling soul