“Our God is all we boast below,
To him we turn our eyes;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise.”
Thus sings the chorus of Prophets in Exile. Yet, even in the midst of their woes, they see cause for pride and self-glorification: They are the only worshippers of the true God; the rest of the world worships idle idols:
“Are not, this very morn, those feasts begun,
Where prostrate Error hails the rising sun?
Do not our tyrant lords this day ordain
For superstitious rites and mirth profane?
And should we mourn? should coward Virtue fly,