Think, and pray; those better proofs shall follow on with holy aspiration.
Yet in my humbler grade to help thy weal and comfort,
Thy weal for this and higher worlds, and comfort in thy sickness,
Suffer the multitude of fancies, walking with me still in love;
But tread in fear, it is holy ground,—remember, Immortality!
Wilt thou argue from infirmities, thine abject evil state,
As how should stricken wretched man indeed exist for ever:
The brutal and besotted, the savage and the slave, the sucking infant and the idiot,
The mass of mean and common minds, and all to be immortal?—
Consider every beginning, how small it is and feeble: