What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
read more

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone.

So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel:
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So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel:
Where faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell,
Written in blood--and Bigotry may swell
The sail he spreads for Heav'n with blasts from hell!

Man always worships something; always he sees the Infinite
shadowed forth in something finite; and indeed can and must read more

Man always worships something; always he sees the Infinite
shadowed forth in something finite; and indeed can and must so
see it in any finite thing, once tempt him well to fix his eyes
thereon.

Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones,
read more

Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones,
Forget not.

Together kneeling, night and day,
Thou, for my sake, at Allah's shrine,
And I--at any God's for read more

Together kneeling, night and day,
Thou, for my sake, at Allah's shrine,
And I--at any God's for thine.

I don't like your way of conditioning and contracting with the
saints. Do this and I'll do that! Here's read more

I don't like your way of conditioning and contracting with the
saints. Do this and I'll do that! Here's one for t'other. Save
me and I'll give you a taper or go on a pilgrimage.

It is the Mass the matters.

It is the Mass the matters.

Every one's true worship was that which he found in use in the
place where he chanced to be.

Every one's true worship was that which he found in use in the
place where he chanced to be.

For all of the creeds are false, and all of the creeds are true;
And low at the shrines read more

For all of the creeds are false, and all of the creeds are true;
And low at the shrines where my brothers bow, there will I bow
too;
For no form of a god, and no fashion
Man has made in his desperate passion,
But is worthy some worship of mine;
Not too hot with a gross belief,
Nor yet too cold with pride,
I will bow me down where my brothers bow,
Humble, but open eyed.