For When Was Public Virtue To Be

But Oars Alone Can Ne'er Prevail To Reach The Distant Coast; The Breath Of Heaven Must Swell The Sail, Or All The Toil Is Lost.

O Winter, Ruler Of The Inverted Year!

And Diff'ring Judgments Serve But To Declare That Truth Lies Somewhere, If We Knew But Where.

Ceremony Leads Her Bigots Forth, Prepared To Fight For Shadows Of No Worth. While Truths, On Which Eternal Things Depend, Can Hardly Find A Single Friend.

Judge Not The Lord By Feeble Sense, But Trust Him For His Grace; Behind A Frowning Providence He Hides A Smiling Face.