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And sacrilegious our sublimest song :
But since the naked will obtains thy smile,
Beneath this monument of praise unpaid,
And future life symphonious to my strain,
That noblest hymn to heaven ! for ever lie
Intomb'd my fear of death ! and every fear,
The dread of every evil, but thy frown.

Whom see I yonder, so demurely smile ?
Laughter a labour, and might break their rest.
Ye quietists, in homage to the skies !
Serene ! of soft address ! who mildly make
An unobtrusive tender of your hearts,
Abhorring violence ! who halt indeed,
\* But for the blessing wrestle not with heaven !
Think you my song too turbulent ? too warm ?
Are passions then the pagans of the soul ?
Reason alone baptized—alone ordain'd
To touch things sacred ?—oh for warmer still !
Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs my powers ;
Oh for an humbler heart, and prouder song !
THOU ! my much-injured theme ! with that soft eye
Which melted o'er doom'd Salem, deign to look
Compassion to the coldness of my breast ;
And pardon to the winter in my strain !
Oh ye cold-hearted, frozen formalists !
On such a theme 'tis impious to be calm ;
Passion is reason, transport temper, here.
Shall heaven, which gave us ardour, and has shewn
Her own for man so strongly, not disdain
What smooth emollients in theology,

Pub'd June 5th 1907 by Macmillan & Co., New Bond Street