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Lettered inside image: "95 | By the great edict, the divine decree, | Truth is deposited with man's last hour; | An honest hour, and faithful to her trust; | Truth, eldest daughter of the Deity; | Truth, of his council when he made the worlds, | Nor less when he shall judge the worlds he made; | Though silent long, and sleeping ne'er so sound | Smother'd with errors, and oppress'd with toys; | That heaven-commission'd hour no sooner calls, | But from her cavern in the soul's abyss, | Like him they fable under AEtna whelm'd, | *The goddess bursts in thunder and in flame; | Loudly convinces, and severely pains: | Dark demons I discharge, and hydra-stings; | The keen vibration of bright truth--is hell: | Just definition! though by schools untaught. | Ye deaf to truth! peruse this parson'd page, | And trust for once a prophet and a priest; | 'Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die'."; lower right: "inv & s | WB"; Lettered on facing page: "94 | Ye sold to sense! ye citizens of earth! | For such alone the christian banner fly, | Know ye how wise your choice--how great your gain? | Behold the picture of earth's happiest man: | 'He calls his wish, it comes; he sends it back | 'And says he call'd another; that arrives, | 'Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on; | 'Till one calls him, who varies not his call, | 'But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound, | 'Till nature dies, and judgement sets him free; | 'A freedom far less welcome than his chain'. | But grant man happy; grant him happy long; | Add to life's highest prize her latest hour; | That hour so late is nimble in approach; | That, like a post, comes on in full career: | How swift the shuttle flies that weaves thy shroud! | Where is the fable of thy former years? | Thrown down the gulph of time, as far from thee | As they had ne'er been thine; the day in hand, | Like a bird struggling to get loose, is going; | Scarce now possess'd, so suddenly 'tis gone; | And each swift moment fled is death advanced | By strides as swift: eternity is all; | And whose eternity? who triumphs there, | Bathing for ever in the font of bliss, | For ever basking in the Deity? | LORENZO! who?--thy conscience shall reply: | O give it leave to speak; 'twill speak ere long, | Thy leave unask'd: LORENZO! hear it now, | While useful its advice, its accent mild."