Angzang seven-foot net

Poodle, snarl not! with the tone that arises, Hallow'd and peaceful, my soul

within, Accords not thy growl, thy bestial din. We find it not strange, that man

despises What he conceives not; That he the good and fair misprizes Finding

them often beyond his ken; Will the dog snarl at them like men?

But ah! Despite my will, it stands confessed, Contentment welleth up no

longer in my breast. Yet wherefore must the stream, alas, so soon be dry,

That we once more athirst should lie? Full oft this sad experience hath been

mine; Nathless the want admits of compensation; For things above the earth