The valley of judg'ment. The forest of olde
Where'd come the dread presence, so knowne afore?
Thou, who hath risen the oracle of lyes
Hast thou witnes'd a shepherd feed on his flocke?
The virtues of loss. The hymnes of decay
Dost thou have faith now, o dearest friend?
And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar
Or dost thou doubt Lie in thy promythian rage?
Whence came thine yoke of grande tradition
Hast thou not seen the structure clear?
A quenchlesse fire, a nest of trembling feare
A path that leads to perill, sorrow and despaire
Alas, 'tis the world without end