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, And make the sea confess his majesty; Whose intellect can fill a little scroll With words that are immortal: who can build Cities, the mighty and the beautiful: Yet man,--this glorious creature,--can debase His spirit down, to worship wood and stone, And hold the very beasts which bear his yoke, And tremble at his eye, for sacred things. With what unutterable humility We should bow down, thou blessed Cross, to thee, Seeing our vanity and foolishness, When, to our own devices left, we frame A shameful creed of craft and cruelty. _L. E. L._ If, when the Lord of Glory was in sight, Thou turn thy back upon that fountain clear, To bow before the “little drop of light” Which dim-eyed men call praise and glory here: What dost thou, but adore the sun, and scorn Him at whose only word both sun and stars were born? If while around the gales from Eden breathe, Thou hide thine eyes, to make thy peevish moan Over some broken reed of earth beneath, Some darling of blind fancy, dead and gone, As wisely might’st thou in Jehovah’s fane Offer thy love and tears to Thammuz slain. Turn thee from these, or dare not to inquire Of Him whose name is Jealous, lest in wrath, He hear and answer thine unblest desire: Far better we should cross His lightning’s path, Than be according to our _idols_ heard, And God should take us at our vain word. _Keble._ Before the _idol_-monster was the blood Of man poured out by man. No mother there Blessed the fair skies which smiled upon her babe, But hastened rather, with unnatural hand, To crush the unfolding life, and turn aside The dark inheritance of woe and pain, Ere yet the unconscious victim owned its doom. _A. Alexander._ And still from Him we turn away, And fill our hearts with worthless things; The fires of avarice melt the clay, And forth the _idol_ springs! Ambition’s flame, and passion’s heat, By wondrous alchemy transmute Earth’s dross, to raise some gilded brute To fill Jehovah’s seat. _J. H. Clinch._ _Idol_-worshippers are we, Bowing evermore heart and knee Unto stone and unto stock; Thus the living God we mock. Who shall say his heart is free From this foul _idolatry_? _Egone._ IMAGE. So God created man in his own _image_, in the _image_ of God created he him; male and female created he them.--Genesis, i. 27.