If happiness have not her seat
And centre in the breast,
We may be wise and rich and great,
But never can be blest.
“Burns will never be praised by those who dote upon forms, vestments, and such like priestly trumpery, for he wrote The Cottar’s Saturday Night:
Compared with this, how poor religion’s pride
In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Religion’s every grace except the heart.