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STANZAS.
Over hopes which lead astray,
Wishes yet more wild than they;
Over each delusive sin
Which the heart takes pleasure in.
Red ambition, which doth ask
Kingdoms for its glorious task;
Avarice, which hath cast its lot
'Mid the gold it uses not;
Pleasures, which like opiates steep
Higher aims in idle sleep;
Vain affections which control
All too much the heaven-bound soul:
These are vanquish'd 'neath my tread.
See the serpent's bruised head:—
Angel! take the child I bring.
Oh, death! where is now thy sting?
