Our triumphs; Gabriel on our errands flown,
Sent by the Sovereign: and are these, O Man!
Thy friends, thy warm allies? and thou (shame burn
The cheek to cinder!) rival to the brute?
Religion’s all. Descending from the skies 550
To wretched man, the goddess, in her left,
Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next;
Religion! the sole voucher man is man;
Supporter sole of man above himself;
Even in this night of frailty, change, and death,