And their baked lips, with many a bloody crack,[134]Sucked in the moisture, which like nectar streamed;

Their throats were ovens, their swoln tongues were black,

As the rich man's in Hell, who vainly screamed

To beg the beggar, who could not rain back

A drop of dew, when every drop had seemed

To taste of Heaven—If this be true, indeed,

Some Christians have a comfortable creed.