XLIV.

The bone that has no marrow; What ultimate for that? It is not fit for table, For beggar, or for cat.

A bone has obligations, A being has the same; A marrowless assembly Is culpabler than shame.

But how shall finished creatures A function fresh obtain? -- Old Nicodemus' phantom Confronting us again!

THE PAST.

The past is such a curious creature, To look her in the face A transport may reward us, Or a disgrace.

Unarmed if any meet her, I charge him, fly! Her rusty ammunition Might yet reply!

To help our bleaker parts Salubrious hours are given, Which if they do not fit for earth Drill silently for heaven.