And toil of years is toil but just begun.
Backward from long ascent we turn the eye,
If haply the review may cheer the heart:
The graves of those we love heave through the way.
Forward we gaze: thick mists obstruct the sky,
But precipice is near, from which we start;
Yet naught remains but down to slide and die!
12. Idols. Psalm 135.