To mark the building from its base,
The pillar’d pomp, the sculptur’d grace,
The dome, the cross, the golden ball,
Much less the grand result of all!
So impious wits, with proud disdain,
Redemption’s hidden ways arraign,
Deem it beneath a being wise,
And, judging with their insect eyes,
View but a part, and then deny
Th’ eternal wisdom of the sky.