When wisely running from Despair,
We do not cast the reins aside,
Of self-control's most Holy guide.
For, like a God, is human Mind,—
Can Virtue aid,-can Evil bind !

X.

But each sectarian hugs his creed,
And fears the Truth would run to seed,
And but for his self-righteous brood,
The world would cease to wheel for good,-
Vain,-pious souls,-whose mental heart
Can't feel that they too play their part,
And, doing so,-constrained to roll
The creed-bound hoop they so extol!—
Who taught the bee to build its comb
Symmetrical as the dome of Rome ?-
The linnet's nest is still the same,
Unaltered in its tiny frame !—
So, too, must Man, instinctive fear,
And all the world,-a God revere !—
Yes! Man hath instinct in his awe,
And builds Religion's needful law,-
In every clime-on every plain,
The fear of God-must still remain,—
In some, with stones,-in others wood,—
According as He's understood,-
The Indian widow mounts the pile,
And dies as nobly, in her style,

As ever Martyr at the stake,

Upheld by God,-for Conscience' sake!

Yes! Black and White,-the Savage too,
Have each their own instinctive view.

ΧΙ.

Our Conscience is the helm of Life,

And steers us all through storm and strife,Call it habit,-or early thought,

Or, only, as the lesson's taught,

'Tis Conscience still, the fact remains, To steer us through this world of painsOn Reason's never-failing tides,

Which, from the brute, the Man divides

Take these away,-what then were Man?
Yea! nothing but a blotted plan!—
Vile habits will his mind impair,
As cracks denote all broken ware,-
The form is there,-the ring is gone,
A Harp indeed,-without a tone,
The less the Conscience plays its part,
The more debased becomes the heart,-
Until, in time, no helm is left,

And from the case,-the compass reft;—
Just like a barque, with these away,
By stormy passions driven astray,
Where can they go,-by such gales driven,
Without the guides they got from Heaven?
Tossed, and tormented, in this life,-
What Selfishness would choose such strife,
Between the gale,-and rocks, and tide,
And better balanced Human Pride?-
Objects, more for pity,—far,-

Blind soldiers on a field of War!
And yet, how prone to judge, is Man,—
And thank his God,-he's better than
All those who play an uphill part,

And beg assistance, from the heart.

XII.

The Jew condemns the Christian Creed, -
The Papist makes Protestants bleed,

The Moslem hates the Nazarene,

And calls Him "dog,"-with bitter spleen, The Christian too, thinks all are wrong, Unless they to his sect, belong,

So, were we to believe each creed,

For, not one soul, did Jesus bleed !—

Yea! damned, were all the human race,—
Not one would see a Saviour's face,
But all be swept within the toils
Of Satan's deep, inhuman coils !—
Yet, each in turn is wrong and right,
According to his law, and Light,-
But ah! the Christian varies most.
For-from one Creed, he's made a host,
As virulent in division, too,
As if his Faith from Evil grew,—

No less than ninety different sects,
Around the Truth,—each ray reflects-
On trifles split,-and oh! how keen !—
While Charity sinks down between,
The savage is not half to blame

As those, who bear this sainted name;
Intolerance, and Bigotry

Each sect is right, in its belief,
And, praying, sends all else to grief,
So, were we to believe each one,
Not one were saved by Mary's Son,
The Atheist, and the Deist fry,

Like brutes, may live, thus, dare not die !-
Yet, where Religion's prated most,—
Suspect that rogue, who dares to boast,-
For, poorly hath his practice shone,
In poorer circles than his own,

"Sell what thou hast,-give to the poor,"
Sends many from the Saviour's door,
Who, though half free, from Open Sin,
Have still some vice that lurks within,
It suits their Bank-book to seem good,
And live upon the best of food,
Their cooler natures, led by Self,
Finds Church attendance best for pelf,
Self-inter'st, with Religion, keeps
The purse which Jesus vainly seeks,-
He lets them keep it, but not mock

His poverty, with Lucre's cloak,-
Their Mission was, God's laws to keep,
For this, no praise they ought to seek,
But, though they kept His laws,—each one,
They're thinking so, was Sin, begun ;-
Who made them, with their selfish power
To gather Riches'-golden shower?
Compare their rich,-and pleasant life,
With yon poor wayward's mental strife,

Without a penny, or a friend,

With broken health, and poisoned mind,--
And tortured knowledge of his fall,—
An outcast, and despised of all,
With evil Habit for a foe,-

A branded Cain,-a Human show!-
What selfishness, such life would lead?
Like cross-nailed thief,-and left to bleed—
Beside the author of their creed!

His actions,-sinful, though they were,
Received their own unhallowed fire,—
To be one month in such a state,
Would teach the Self-religious great,
That He who lent their golden day,
Might justly swept their wealth away,
For few deserve whate'er they get-
But,-live on, till their sun is set,-
They then would feel the fatal shower
Of vicious--longings-dreadful power,
To pity these, and inward feel
More thankful for their better weal,
Is all that they should dare to think,
While standing on Time's fickle brink.

XIV.

Yea! but for God's Almighty grace,
The other, yet, might be their place,
For Misery hath many a plan,
To reach the boasted pride of Man,
Heaven's riches are most truly ours
When spent to nourish dying flowers,-
Like dew upon the parched mead,
They save the Soul, when Time is fled,
'Tis not the wealth of Gold, alone,
Which can for Happiness, atone,
For, mental poverty, might break
The casquet, for Religion's sake,-
Poor Miller fell within the clasp
Of Melancholy's leaden grasp,
And, from his doom, no one is free,
Who tampers with Eternity,-

There's many a grade, 'twixt sage and foul,
If we apply the plumb and rule,