He Touch'd The Tender Stops

When The New Light Which We Beg For Shines In Upon Us, There Be [those] Who Envy And Oppose, If It Come Not First In At Their Casements.

Yet Hold It More Humane, More Heav'nly, First, By Winning Words To Conquer Willing Hearts, And Make Persuasion Do The Work Of Fear.

Nothing Profits More Than Self-esteem, Grounded On What Is Just And Right.

And That Must End Us, That Must Be Our Cure: To Be No More. Sad Cure! For Who Would Lose, Though Full Of Pain, This Intellectual Being, Those Thoughts That Wander Through Eternity, To Perish, Rather, Swallowed Up And Lost In The Wide Womb Of Uncreated Night Devoid Of Sense And Motion?

Come, Pensive Nun, Devout And Pure, Sober Steadfast, And Demure, All In A Robe Of Darkest Grain, Flowing With Majestic Train.