In works of art, think justly: what praise canst thou render unto man? For he made not his own mind, nor is he the source of contrivance. If a cunning workman make an engine that fashioneth curious works, Which hath the praise, the machine or its maker,--the engine, or he that framed it? And could he frame it so subtly as to give it a will and freedom, Endow it with complicated powers, and a glorious living soul, Who, while he admireth the wondrous understanding creature, Will not pay deeper homage to the Maker of master minds? Otherwise, thou art senseless as the pagan, that adoreth his own handywork; Yea, while thou boastest of thy wisdom, thy mind is as the mind of the savage, For he boweth down to his idols, and thou art a worshipper of self, Giving to the reasoning machine the credit due to its creator. The key-stone of thy mind, to give thy thoughts solidity, To bind them as in an arch, to fix them as the world in its sphere, Is to learn from the book of the Lord, to drink from the well of His wisdom. Who can condense the sun, or analyse the fulness of the Bible, So that its ideas be gathered, and the harvest of its wisdom be brought in? That book is easy to the man who setteth his heart to understand it, But to the careless and profane it shall seem the foolishness of God; And it is a delicate test to prove thy moral state; To the humble disciple it is bread, but a stone to the proud and unbelieving: A scorner shall find nothing but the husks, wherewith to feed his hunger, But for the soul of the simple, it is plenty of full-ripe wheat. The Scripture abideth the same, in the sober majesty of truth; And the differing aspects of its teaching proceed from diversity in minds. He that would learn to think may gain that knowledge there; For the living word, as an angel, standeth at the gate of wisdom, And publisheth, This is the way, walk ye surely in it. Religion taketh by the hand the humble pupil of repentance, And teacheth him lessons of mystery, solving the questions of doubt; She maketh man worthy of himself, of his high prerogative of reason, Threadeth all the labyrinths of thought, and leadeth him to his God.