Wing high, o Word; wax in profundity
To stamp your sense on base and summit both,
Whatever times you can – in dreams I see
The thing cry out in mental darkness gross.
Yet do not sever from me, to appear
(I beg you) at that blissful gathering
Alone, without my body warmth to cheer
(Or at the least my memory); but be
Plain daylight, not a vacant shade ... The thing
And its soul? Or my part in its suffering?

"An enterprise, directed toward repeated progressive movement of persons or things over not quite insignificant distances on a metallic basis, which is certain by its consistency, construction and smoothness to enable the feeding of large masses or the achievement of a relatively meaningful speed of the transport motion, and by this characteristic in connection with natural forces used additionally to the production of the transport motion (like steam, electricity, animals, human muscle activity etc.) to produce operations of the enterprise on the same with a relatively enormous effect."

— source unknown

New English Hymnal 96

There ascribed to “J.M. Neale and Editors”

Did you so rudely hew, old Mason John,

 This roughcast verse, neglecting concord due?

 O thou who … trod? God! How can we construe

Such doggerel, such syntax woebegone?

Nay, Neale!  Who then, to fit rat-rhyming, durst

 Inflexion wreck, crushed on Procrustes’ bed?

 Are we to blame hymnographers long dead?

Not yours that shame, not at Wenceslas-worst!

Shall, then, seven gents, clever and reverend, seek

 (Surely some schooled in grammar them among)

To flaunt rules good in English, Latin, Greek,

 Tweak accidence, wreak havoc?  When we’ve sung

Their hacked, botched lines, such bloody butchers reek.

Pernicious meddlers - oh, to have them hung!