He bows, an Atlas, 'neath the mighty load, Yet bears it meekly, uncomplainingly. No church the Christ's. None, therefore, can I join. All sects and creeds have wandered from the way. Priestcraft in lieu of priesthood sits enthroned.
Dead forms deny the power of godliness.
Men worship with their lips their hearts afar. None serve acceptably in sight of heaven. Wherefore a work of wonder shall be wrought, And perish all the wisdom of the wise. The good and evil tongues that trump thy fame. But conscience still her fullest freedom sees.