But holds the furrowing earth still harnessed to its yoke.

The stars still write their golden purposes

On heaven's high palimpsest, and no man sees,

Nor any therein Daniel; I do hear

But each resurgent morn, behold, more near the Perfect Morn.'

Firm is the man, and set beyond the cast

Of Fortune's game, and the iniquitous hour,

And not intends her high sagacious tour