Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/89

 Whence May man find heart to deride me? Who made his face as a star To shine as a God's beside me? Nay, get thee away from us, far Hence.

Then Shall no man's heart, as he raises A hymn to thy secret head, Wax great with the godhead he praises: Thou, God, shalt be like unto dead Men.

Grace I take not of men's thanksgiving, I crave not of lips that live;