Gifts, on Thy shrine, my God, more fitly laid;

If I have sought to live

But in one light, and made a mortal eye

The lonely star of my idolatry,

Thou that art Love, oh! pity and forgive!

Mrs. Hemans.

City of idol-temples, and of shrines

Where folly kneels to falsehood—how the pride

Of our humanity is here rebuked!

Man, that aspires to rule the very wind,