LAY or THE KOS®. 
“ Sit still upon your thrones, 
O ye poetic ones ! 
And if, sooth, the world decry you, 
Why, let that world pass by you ! 
u Ye to yourselves suffice, 
Without its flatteries; 
Self-contentedly approve you 
Unto Him who sits above you. 
u In prayers that upward mount, 
Like to a sunned fount, 
And, in gushing back upon you, 
Bring the music they have won you. 
(i In thanks for all the good 
By poets understood— 
For the sound of seraphs moving 
Through the hidden depths of loving ! 
“ For sights of things away, 
Through fissures of the clay,— 
Promised things, which shall be given 
And sung ever up in heaven ! 
