When Sorrows Come, They Come Not Single

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

It Is Not, Nor It Cannot, Come To Good, But Break, My Heart, For I Must Hold My Tongue.

The Undeserver May Sleep When The Man Of Action Is Called On.

Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt, If Ever, Now.

The Readiness Is All.