Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/104

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May then a Soul, grown sick at heart for home Languishing here in prison, unloose the chain, Draw back the bolt and win to her father-land By the low door of Death?

It may not be. You know that Soul and Body dwelt apart One in the gulf beneath, and one ensky'd, Till quicken'd by the universal soul What was mere matter takes a body on, Since God has bound the Body to the Soul, With Time the Soul has learn'd to suffer it, As men may suffer a poor hovel's shade, Unknowing of a palace waiting them. Though Death shall loose the Body from the Soul, The Soul from Matter must herself release, Yet not precipitately. Travellers,