Dear people, swelled in fool's wisdom
And clinging to error so fanciful,
To the skies, adorned in hosts of fair stars,
Look up - and make bright your dimlit minds!
...
To Thee, eternal Defender of all creation,
I call, frail, commiserate, nowhere secure.
Keep me in close watch, and in my each anxiety,
Hasten to bring aid to my wretched soul. ...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.