Aaron Hill

A man may cry, Church! Church! at ev'ry word,
With no pore piety than other people--
A read more

A man may cry, Church! Church! at ev'ry word,
With no pore piety than other people--
A daw's not reckoned a religious bird
Because it keeps a-cawing from a steeple.

When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine,
Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine,
See! read more

When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine,
Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine,
See! cry'd they while, in red'ning tide, it gush'd,
The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush'd.

For man may pious texts repeat,
And yet religion have no inward seat.

For man may pious texts repeat,
And yet religion have no inward seat.

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious read more

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And, consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool a font.

There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.

There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.