Or If Virtue Feeble Were, Heav'n Itself

The World Was All Before Them, Where To Choose Their Place Of Rest, And Providence Their Guide: They Hand In Hand, With Wandering Steps And Slow, Through Eden Took Their Solitary Way.

Demoniac Frenzy, Moping Melancholy.

Spirits That Live Throughout, Vital In Every Part, Not As Frail Man, In Entrails, Heart Or Head, Liver Or Reins, Cannot But By Annihilating Die.

Who, As They Sung, Would Take The Prison'd Soul And Lap It In Elysium.

And On The Tree Of Life, The Middle Tree And Highest There That Grew, Sat Like A Cormorant.