Few Sometimes May Know, When

And Looks Commercing With The Skies, Thy Rapt Soul Sitting In Thine Eyes.

Let Us Descend Now Therefore From This Top Of Speculation.

Give Me The Liberty To Know, To Utter, And To Argue Freely According To Conscience, Above All Liberties.

These Eyes, Tho' Clear To Outward View Of Blemish Or Of Spot, Bereft Of Light, Their Seeing Have Forgot, Nor To Their Idle Orbs Doth Sight Appear Of Sun, Or Moon, Or Star, Throughout The Year, Or Man, Or Woman. Yet I Argue Not Against Heaven's Hand Or Will, Not Bate A Jot Of Heart Or Hope; But Still Bear Up And Steer Right Onward.

Nor Love Thy Life, Nor Hate; But What Thou Livest, Live Well; How Long, Or Short, Permit To Heaven.