“And on my temples bound the diadem;

“Yet am I subject still to human frailty,

“And nought can boast more than my meanest vassal.”

How wisely fram’d is Nature’s glorious work:

The smallest reptile doth its instinct boast;

Ay, is as nicely form’d as man himself.

Both doom’d to die, to rot, and come to dust.

Yet man hath one great property besides,—

A never fading, an immortal soul!

Upon that thought rest I my happiness.