O false scholar, credulous in vanities, and only sceptical of truth,
Wherefore toil to cheat thy soul of its birthright, Immortality?
Is it for thy guilt? He pardoneth: Is it for thy frailty? He will help:
Though thou fearest, He is love; and Mercy shall be deeper than Despair:
Even for thy full-blown pride, is it much to be receiver of a God?
And lo, thy rights, He made thee; thy claims, He hath redeemed.
Hath the fair aspect of affection no beauty that thou shouldst desire it?
And are those sorrows nothing, to thee that passest by?
For it is Fact, immutable, that God hath dwelt in Man:
With gentle generous love ennobling while He bought us.