Myself unholy, from myself unholy to...

Myself unholy, from myself unholy to the sweet living of my friends I look—eye-greeting doves bright-counter to the rook, fresh sand to salt sand-teasing waters shoaly:—and they are purér, but alas! not solely the unquestion’d readings of a blotless book. And so my trust, confused, struck, and shook yields to the sultry siege of melancholy. He has a sin of mine, he its near brother; knowing them well I can but see the fall. This fault in one I found, that in another: and so, though each have one while I have all, no better serves me now, save best; no other Save Christ: to Christ I look, on Christ I call/