Mutual Love, The Crown Of All Our

Into This Wild Abyss/ The Womb Of Nature, And Perhaps Her Grave--/ Of Neither Sea, Nor Shore, Nor Air, Nor Fire,/ But All These In Their Pregnant Causes Mixed/ Confusedly, And Which Thus Must Ever Fight,/ Unless The Almighty Maker Them Ordain/ His Dark Materials To Create More Worlds,--/ Into This Wild Abyss The Wary Fiend/ Stood On The Brink Of Hell And Looked A While,/ Pondering His Voyage; For No Narrow Frith/ He Had To Cross.

Then Might Ye See Cowls, Hoods, And Habits With Their Wearers Tost And Flutter'd Into Rags; Then Reliques, Beads, Indulgences, Dispenses, Pardons, Bulls, The Sport Of Winds; All These Upwhirl'd Aloft Fly To The Rearward Of The World Far Off Into A Limbo Large And Broad, Since Called The Paradise Of Fools.

This Is Servitude, To Serve Th'unwise, Or Him Who Hath Rebelled Against His Worthier, As Thine Now Serve Thee, Thyself Not Free, But To Thyself Enthralled.

Incens'd With Indignation Satan Stood Unterrify'd, And Like A Comet Burn'd That Fires The Length Of Ophiuchus Huge In Th' Arctic Sky, And From His Horrid Hair Shakes Pestilence And War.

For No Falsehood Can Endure Touch Of Celestial Temper.