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Then begins To the old point revulsion new-- (For 't is just this I bring you to)-- If after all we should mistake, And so renounce life for the sake Of death and nothing else? You hear Each friend we jeered at, send the jeer Back to ourselves with good effect-- "There were my beetles to collect! My box--a trifle, I confess, But here I hold it, ne'ertheless!" Poor idiots, (let us pluck up heart And answer) we, the better part Have chosen, though 't were only hope,-- Nor envy moles like you that grope Amid your veritable muck, More than the grasshoppers would truck, For yours, their passionate life away, That spends itself in leaps all day To reach the sun, you want the eyes To see, as they the wings to rise And match the noble hearts of them! Thus the contemner we contemn,-- And, when doubt strikes us, thus we ward Its stroke off, caught upon our guard, --Not struck enough to overturn Our faith, but shake it--make us learn What I began with, and, I wis, End, having proved,--how hard it is To be a Christian!