Let those who doubt the hea­ven­ly source
Of re­ve­la­tion’s page di­vine,
Use as their wea­pons fraud and force—
No such unhallowed arms are mine.
I on­ly wield its ho­ly word—
Reason its shield, and truth its sword.

I doubt not—my re­li­gion stands
A bea­con on the eter­nal rock—
Let ma­lice throw her fie­ry brands;
Its sac­red fane has stood the shock
Of ag­es—and shall tow­er sub­lime
Above the waves and winds of time.

Infinite wis­dom formed the plan;
Infinite pow­er sup­ports the pile;
Infinite good­ness poured on man
Its ra­di­ant light—its cheer­ing smile.
Need they thy aid? Poor worm! Thy aid?
O mad pre­sump­tion—vain pa­rade!

Thou wilt not trust th’Al­migh­ty One
With His own thun­ders—thou wouldst throw
The bolts of Hea­ven! O sense­less son
Of dust and dark­ness! Spi­der! Go,
And with thy cob­web bind the tide,
And the swift, dazz­ling co­met guide.

Yes! Force has con­quer­ing reasons giv­en,
And chains and tor­tures ar­gue well—
And thou hast proved thy faith from Hea­ven,
By wea­pons thou hast brought from hell.
Yes! Thou hast made thy ti­tle good,
For thou hast signed the deed with blood.

Daring im­pos­tor! Sure that God
Whose ad­vo­cate thou feign’st to be,
Will smite thee with that aw­ful rod
Which thou wouldst seize—and pour on thee
The vi­al of that wrath, which thou
Wouldst emp­ty on thy bro­ther’s brow.