Why do I waste in dreams fruitless and vain
The substance of my youth in idle tears?.
Why do I count with feverish eye the years
And number with sad heart the ways of pain?

Why should I weep thus, since there is no gain
To me, to men from sighings and from fears?
Since from afar at me the future sneers,
The while the past with me cannot remain.

High Heaven, that errs not and that wills not wrong
To each on earth doth give a work to do,
A distant recompense and rest remote;

I'll to my work then, so God make me strong
To bring the Demons of mine own self to
Their knees, and take the Devil by the throat.