Publisher Desc.  Text by George Macdonald: Satan, avaunt! Nay, take thine hour, Thou canst not daunt, Thou hast no power; Be welcome to thy nest, Though it be in my breast. Burrow amain; Dig like a mole; Fill every vein With half-burnt coal; Puff the keen dust about, And all to choke me out. Fill music's ways With creaking cries, That no loud praise May climb the skies; And on my labouring chest Lay mountains of unrest. My slumber steep In dreams of haste, That only sleep, No rest, I taste- With stiflings, rimes of rote, And fingers on my throat. Satan, thy might I do defy; Live core of night I patient lie: A wind comes up the gray Will blow thee clean away. Christ's angel, Death, All radiant white, With one cold breath Will scare thee quite, And give my lungs an air As fresh as answered prayer. So, Satan, do Thy worst with me Until the True Shall set me free, And end what he began, By making me a man.