Of a use the finest,
Painteth us, the teachers of the end of use.
Travelers, weary-eyed,
Bless us far and wide;
Unto sick and prisoned thoughts we give sudden truce.
Not a poor town window
Loves its [sickliest planting],
But its wall speaks loftier truth than [Babylonian vaunting].
Sagest yet the uses
Mixed with our sweet juices,