It is the Mass the matters.

It is the Mass the matters.

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?

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.

So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel:
read more

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!

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.

Stoop, boys. This gate
Instructs you how t' adore the heavens and bows you
To a morning's read more

Stoop, boys. This gate
Instructs you how t' adore the heavens and bows you
To a morning's holy office.

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.

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.