Man May Dismiss Compassion From His Heart,

War's A Game, Which, Were Their Subjects Wise, Kings Would Not Play At.

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.

The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

Religion! What Treasure Untold Resides In That Heavenly Word!

Pity! Religion Has So Seldom Found A Skilful Guide Into Poetic Ground! The Flowers Would Spring Where'er She Deign'd To Stray And Every Muse Attend Her In Her Way.