  Have the scales that dimm’d thy vision Fallen, Michael? Canst thou see How they’re stealing in derision All the choicest food from thee? In return, divine enjoyment Promise they in realms above, Where the angels’ sole employment Is to cook us fleshless love. Michael, hath thy faith grown weaker, Or thy appetite more strong? Thou dost grasp life’s sparkling beaker, And thou sing’st a hero-song. Fear not, Michael! take thy pleasure While on earth, and eat what’s good; When thou’rt dead, thou’lt have full leisure To digest in peace thy food. |
|
