Tears Such As Angels Weep.

I Fled, And Cry'd Out, Death; Hell Trembled At The Hideous Name, And Sigh'd From All Her Caves, And Back Resounded, Death.

Fame Is The Spur That The Clear Spirit Doth Raise

Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell.

Equally Inured By Moderation Either State To Bear, Prosperous Or Adverse.

Ask For This Great Deliverer Now, And Find Him Eyeless In Gaza At The Mill With Slaves.