He paused again, then solemnly began A sad relation of the Church’s state; O’er many a schism and false doctrine ran, That had obtruded on its peace of late; But most alarming was our Founder’s plan, To leave things sacred to the free debate; To make faith bow to erring reason’s shrine, And mortal man a judge of creeds divine. XXIV. “This simple truth no Christian man denies,” He thus continued, “that the natural mind Is prone to evil as the sparks to rise, And to the good is obstinately blind; Who then sees not, that looks with wisdom’s eyes, That God’s elect should rule the human kind? The good should govern, and the bad submit, And saints alone are for dominion fit?” XXV. Our Founder answered, “Art thou from the pit? Get thee behind me, if such thoughts be thine; Did Christ his gospel to the world commit, That his meek followers might in purple shine? He spurned the foul temptation, it is writ, And the Great Tempter felt his power divine; Art thou far wiser than thy Master grown, And spurn’st a heavenly for an earthly crown?” XXVI. “Nay--nay, friend Williams!” the grave elder cried, “It is that crown of glory to secure That the True Church should for her saints provide The shield of law ’gainst heresy impure; Quell every schism--crush the towering pride Of the dark Tempter, ere his reign is sure; For many finds he who are servants meet To sow for him the tares among the wheat. XXVII. “Men ever busy, searching for the new, Scanning our creed as if it doubtful were, These would we hold perforce our doctrines to, And the vain labor to convert them spare; God may in time their restless souls renew, And give them of his grace a saving share;-- Meanwhile our Church their errors would restrain, And to her creed their wayward minds enchain.” XXVIII. “A mortal thou!” our Founder here replied, “Yet judge of conscience,--searcher of the heart Thou, the elect?--but if it be denied, How wilt thou prove it, or its proofs impart? God gave to man that bright angelic guide, A reasoning soul, his being’s better part;-- He gave her freedom; but thou wouldst confine And cramp her action to that creed of thine. XXIX. “Who binds the soul extends the reign of hell; She’s formed to err, but, erring, truth to find; Pity her wanderings, but, O never quell The bold aspirings of this angel blind! God is her strength within, and bids her spell, By outward promptings, the eternal Mind: Long may she wander still in quest of light, But day will dawn at last upon a polar night.” XXX.