There is a Languor of the Life

396 There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain— 'Tis Pain's Successor—When the Soul Has suffered all it can— A Drowsiness—diffuses— A Dimness like a Fog Envelops Consciousness— As Mists—obliterate a Crag. The Surgeon—does not blanch—at pain His Habit—is severe— But tell him that it ceased to feel— The Creature lying there— And he will tell you—skill is late— A Mightier than He— Has ministered before Him— There's no Vitality.