The Poor Dog, In Life The Firmest

The Thorns Which I Have Reap'd Are Of The Tree I Planted; They Have Torn Me, And I Bleed. I Should Have Known What Fruit Would Spring From Such A Seed.

And Gentle Winds And Waters Near, Make Music To The Lonely Ear.

Know Ye Not Who Would Be Free Themselves Must Strike The Blow? By Their Right Arms The Conquest Must Be Wrought?

There Is Something Pagan In Me That I Cannot Shake Off. In Short, I Deny Nothing, But Doubt Everything.

The Poor Dog, In Life The Firmest Friend, The First To Welcome, Foremost To Defend, Whose Honest Heart Is Still The Master's Own, Who Labours, Fights, Lives, Breathes For Him Alone, Unhonour'd Falls, Unnoticed All His Worth, Denied In Heaven The Soul He Held On Earth, While Man, Vain Insect Hopes To Be Forgiven, And Claims Himself A Sole Exclusive Heaven.