Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to hostile barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds  mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th'  isles; 'tis nought to me;
Since  is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste, as in the city full;
Rolls the same kindred  round the world,
In all apparent, wise, and good in all;
Since  sustains, and animates the whole;
From seeming evil still educes good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression. — But I lose
Myself in  in light ineffable!
Come then, expressive Silence, muse his praise.