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 I. 
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 VIII. 
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The nameless He, whose nod is Nature's birth;
And Nature's shield, the shadow of His hand;
Her dissolution, His suspended smile!
The great First-Last! pavilion'd high He sits
In darkness, from excessive splendour born,
By gods unseen, unless through lustre lost.
His glory, to created glory, bright
As that to central horrors; He looks down
On all that soars, and spans immensity.