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.
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And what greater calamity can fall upon a nation than the loss of
worship.
And what greater calamity can fall upon a nation than the loss of
worship.
The heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old!--
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, read more
The heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old!--
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns.
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.
How often from the steep
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to the read more
How often from the steep
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to the midnight air,
Sole, or responsive each to other's note,
Singing their great Creator?
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod,
They have left unstained, what there read more
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod,
They have left unstained, what there they found,--
Freedom to worship God.
Isocrates adviseth Demonicus, when he came to a strange city, to
worship by all means the gods of the read more
Isocrates adviseth Demonicus, when he came to a strange city, to
worship by all means the gods of the place.
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.
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.
It is the Mass the matters.
It is the Mass the matters.
