For Neither Man Nor Angel Can Discern

And Join With Thee Calm Peace And Quiet, Spare Fast, That Oft With Gods Doth Diet.

He That Hath Light Within Their Own Breast, May Sit In The Centre And Enjoy Bright Day.

And Pomp, And Feast, And Revelry, With Mask, And Antique Pageantry, Such Sights As Youthful Poets Dream On Summer Eves By Haunted Stream.

Lethe, The River Of Oblivion, Rolls His Watery Labyrinth, Which Whoso Drinks Forgets Both Joy And Grief.

Apostate, Still Thou Err'st, Nor End Wilt Find Offering, From The Paths Of Truth Remote.