Nor to this evanescent speck of earth
Poorly confin'd, the radiant tracts on high
Are her exalted range; intent to gaze
Creation thro'; and, from that full complex
Of never-ending wonders, to conceive
Of  right, who spoke the word,
And nature mov'd compleat. With inward view,
Thence on th' ideal kingdom swift she turns
Her eye; and instant, at her virtual glance,
Th' obedient phantoms vanish or appear;
Compound, divide, and into order shift,
Each to his rank, from plain perception up
To notion quite abstract; where first begins
The world of spirits, action all, and life
Immediate, and unmix'd. But here the cloud,
So wills  sits deep.
Enough for us we know that this dark state,
In wayward passions lost, and vain pursuits,
This infancy of being, cannot prove
The final issue of the works of ;
By  and  inexpressive form'd,
And ever rising with the rising mind.