The terrors of truth and dart of death
⁠To faith alike are vain;
Though comets, gone a thousand years,
⁠Return again,
Patient she stands—she can no more—
And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar.

⁠(At a stony gate,
⁠A statue of stone,
⁠Weed overgrown—
⁠Long 'twill wait!)

But God his former mind retains,
⁠Confirms his old decree;
The generations are inured to pains,
⁠And strong Necessity
Surges, and heaps Time's strand with wrecks.
⁠The People spread like a weedy grass,
⁠The thing they will they bring to pass,
And prosper to the apoplex.
The rout it herds around the heart,
⁠The ghost is yielded in the gloom;
Kings wag their heads—Now save thyself