Seek not the Spirit, if it hide,
Inexorable to thy zeal:

Baby, do not whine and chide;
Art thou not also real?

Why should’st thou stoop to poor excuse?
Turn on the Accuser roundly; say,

“Here am I, here will I remain
Forever to myself soothfast,
Go thou, sweet Heaven, or, at thy pleasure stay.”—

Already Heaven with thee its lot has cast,
For it only can absolutely deal.