Conclusion.

  Alas! By one poor morsel, tasted through a sin, The fount of thought’s congealed; heart’s blood diluted thin. One grain of wheat has cast eclipse o’er sun of mind, As “dragon’s tail” doth dull the full moon, when inclined. ¹ Behold! How delicate is thought! One mite of clay, From full-moon glory, it reduced to disarray. The bread of life, received, digested, gives man power. Material bread excites distrusts, contentions, sour.