it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
The power of life and death
Rests in the very body of man
His hands, his loins, his breath
From nothing, like no god could do
But God - if he does speak true
And man is for this not deaf
Those who never were are new
Yet for all this did he understand
Who the truth from him has hid
Like a man that burns coal for soot
Or grows flowers but for the root
Away from passion will you bid?
If pleasure is work, virtue is free--
It is plain for everyone else to see
If they even knew what they did
They might have done it differently

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