IX.

Drowning is not so pitiful As the attempt to rise. Three times, 't is said, a sinking man Comes up to face the skies, And then declines forever To that abhorred abode Where hope and he part company, -- For he is grasped of God. The Maker's cordial visage, However good to see, Is shunned, we must admit it, Like an adversity.

How still the bells in steeples stand, Till, swollen with the sky, They leap upon their silver feet In frantic melody!