A spirit passed before me: I beheld The face of immortality unveiled- Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine- And there it stood,-all formless-but divine: Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake; And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:
"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure Than He who deems even Seraphs insecure? Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! The moth survives you, and are ye more just? Things of a day! you wither ere the night, Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!"
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