For Men To Tell How Human Life

O Loss Of Sight, Of Thee I Most Complain! Blind Among Enemies, O Worse Than Chains, Dungeon Or Beggary, Or Decrepit Age! Light, The Prime Work Of God, To Me Is Extinct, And All Her Various Objects Of Delight Annulled, Which Might In Part My Grief Have Eased. Inferior To The Vilest Now Become Of Man Or Worm; The Vilest Here Excel Me, They Creep, Yet See; I, Dark In Light, Exposed To Daily Fraud, Contempt, Abuse And Wrong, Within Doors, Or Without, Still As A Fool, In Power Of Others, Never In My Own; Scarce Half I Seem To Live, Dead More Than Half.

Revenge, At First Though Sweet, Bitter Ere Long Back On Itself Recoils.

Nothing Is Here For Tears, Nothing To Wail Or Knock The Breast, No Weakness, No Contempt, Dispraise, Or Blame,-nothing But Well And Fair, And What May Quiet Us In A Death So Noble.

Virtue Hath No Tongue To Check Vice's Pride.

Hail, Wedded Love, Mysterious Law; True Source Of Human Happiness.