I sing the progress of a deathless soul
Whom Fate, with God made, but doth not control
Plac'd in most shapes; all times before the law
Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing

And the great world to his aged evening;
From infant morn, through manly noon I draw
What the gold Chaldee, of silver Persian saw
Greek brass, or Roman iron, is in this one;
A work t'outwear Seths pillars, brick and stone
And (holy writs excepted) made to yield to none