Classic Poem

Away, fear, with thy projects, no false fire
Which thou dost make can aught my courage quail,
Or cause me leeward run or strike my sail.
What if the world do frown at my retire,
What if denial dash my wished desire,
And purblind pity do my state bewail,
And wonder cross itself and free speech rail,
And greatness take it not and death show nigher!
Tell them, my soul, the fears that make me quake:
The smouldering brimstone and the burning lake,
Life feeding death, death ever life devouring,
Torments not moved, unheard, yet still roaring,
God lost, hell found, — ever, never begun.
Now bid me into flame from smoke to run!