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"Oh! shall God tolerate
the meanest prayer
That humbly seeks his high supernal throne,
And man - presumptuous Pharisee - declare
His fellow's voice less welcome than his own?
Is it a theme for wild and warring words
How best to satisfy the Maker's claim?
In rendering to the Lord what is the Lord's,
Doth not the thought of violence bring shame?
Think ye he gave the branching forest-tree
To furnish fagots for the funeral pyre?
Or bid his sunrise light the world, to see
Pale tortured victims perish there by fire?
No! oft on earth, dragged forth in pain to die,
The heretic may groan - the martyr bleed -
But, set before his Sovereign Judge on high,
'Tis man's offence condemns him, not his creed.
His first commandment was to worship Him;
His next - to love the creature He hath made:
How blind the eyes of those who read, how dim,
Who see not here religious fury stayed!
From the proud half-fulfilment of his law
Sternly he turns away his awful face,
Nor will contentment from their service draw,
Who fail to grant a fellow-creature grace.
Haply the days of martyrdom are past,
But still we see, without a visible end,
The bitter warfare of opinion last,
Tho' God hath willed that man should be man's friend.
Therefore do thou, e'er yet thy youthful heart
Be tinged with their revilings, safe retreat,
And in those fierce discussions bear no part, -
Odious in all - in woman most unmeet, -
But in the still dark night, and rising day,
Humbly collect thy thoughts, and humbly pray.
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