The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows,
All speak of God; throughout, one voice agrees,
And, eloquent, His dread existence shows:
Blind to thyself, ah, see him, fool, in these!
Giovanni Cotta.
Hardening by degrees, till double steel’d,
Take leave of Nature’s God, and God reveal’d—
Then laugh at all you trembled at before;
And joining the freethinker’s brutal war.
Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense—