And do they so? have they a sense Of aught but influence? Can they their heads lift, and expect, And groan too? why the Elect Can do no more; my volumes said They were all dull, and dead; They judged them senseless, and their state Wholly inanimate. Go, go; Seal up thy looks, And burn thy books! Sometimes I sit with Thee, and tarry An hour or so, then vary. Thy other creatures in this scene Thee only aim, and mean; Some rise to seek Thee, and with heads Erect, peep from their beds; Others, whose birth [123] is in the tomb, And cannot quit the womb, Sigh there, and groan for Thee, Their liberty. I would I were a stone, or tree, Or flower by pedigree, Or some poor highway herb, or spring To flow, or bird to sing! Then should I -- tied to one sure state -- All day expect my date [124] ; But I am sadly loose, and stray A giddy blast each way; O let me not thus range! Thou canst not change. Footnotes: [122] See Note [123] others, whose birth, perhaps, gems, or crystals [124] date, end of life |