“I count life just a stuff to try the soul's strength on.”
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Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
Like dogs in a wheel, birds in a cage, or squirrels in a chain, ambitious men still climb and climb, with great labor, and incessant anxiety, but never reach the top.
