XXVI.
Thou Searcher of the soul! in whose dread sight
Not the bold guilt alone that mocks the skies,
But the scarce-own’d unwhisper’d thought of night,
As a thing written with the sunbeam lies;
Thou know’st—whose eye through shade and depth can see,
That this man’s crime was but to worship thee,
Like those that made their hearts thy sacrifice,
The call’d of yore—wont by the Saviour’s side
On the dim Olive Mount to pray at eventide.