To walk abroad is, not with Eys,

But Thoughts, the Fields to see and prize;

Els may the silent Feet,

Like Logs of Wood,

Mov up and down, and see no Good,

Nor Joy nor Glory meet.

Ev'n Carts and Wheels their place do change,

But cannot see; tho very strange

The Glory that is by:

Dead Puppets may

Mov in the bright and glorious Day,

Yet not behold the Sky.

And are not Men than they more blind,

Who having Eys yet never find

The Bliss in which they mov:

Like Statues dead

They up and down are carried,

Yet neither see nor lov.