XVI

Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle

Such lamps within the dome of this dim world,

That the pale name of Priest might shrink and dwindle

Into the hell from which it first was hurled,

A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure;

Till human thoughts might kneel alone,

Each before the judgement-throne

Of its own aweless soul, or of the Power unknown!

Oh. that the words which make the thoughts obscure

From which they spring, as clouds of glimmering dew

From a white lake blot Heaven's blue portraiture,

Were stripped of their thin masks and various hue

And frowns and smiles and splendours not their own,

Till in the nakedness of false and true

They stand before their Lord, each to receive its due!