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 Lo! Nature's law and God's—two angry fires—

Each the allegiance of my soul requires;

Strange God that made, unmake me what I am—

Or reconcile the law to my desires!

Who set this wine-cup in my willing way?

Who made this woman of enchanted clay?

When gods decree such difficult commands,

They should give too the power to obey.

'Tis but a fiat of impossible good,

A dream of high fantastic rectitude;

'Tis not for man, that lordly animal,

While of its ancient colour runs his blood.

If I were God, and this poor world were mine,

O thou shouldst see on what a fair design

I would rebuild it like a dream for thee,

Nor shouldst thou ever blush to call it thine.