XXVII.
The sceptre’s might, the crosier’s pride,
Ye do not fear;
No conquest blade, in life-blood dyed,
Drops terror here—
Let there not lurk a subtler snare,
For wisdom’s footsteps to beware;
The shackle and the stake,
Our Fathers fled;
Ne’er may their children wake
A fouler wrath, a deeper dread;
Ne’er may the craft that fears the flesh to bind,
Lock its hard fetters on the mind;
Quenched be the fiercer flame
That kindles with a name;
The pilgrim’s faith, the pilgrim’s zeal,
Let more than pilgrim kindness seal;
Be purity of life the test,
Leave to the heart, to Heaven, the rest.