Against the light, an infidel, my heart, unfettered, doth rebel; it bows before God’s sanctuary and idols serves, indifferently.

It sets a balance, to access the value of its righteousness, ready to strike a bargain smart with God, in resurrection’s mart.

It would have earth and heaven fulfill all the requirements of its will, and claims, though dust, a judge to be with a divine authority.

Anon it will with God accord; anon it fights against the Lord, stands for a time as truth’s ally. And then it doth the truth deny.

While in its essence void of hue, it paints a lying image, too: a Moses, who the part doth bear of prophet, and of sorcerer!

Its glance a touch of the insane imparteth to the prudent brain, and yet a lancet it can use the madman’s swelling to reduce.

When shall this lazy traveller reach his goal, the inner chamber of the soul that doth these thousand years abide at falsehood’s shrine, in slothful pride?