Truth is within ourselves. Festus, I plunge. God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations. Error has no end. The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.
Every joy is gain And gain is gain, however small.
But when another rock would crown the work. A privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.