O peace! how many wars were waged in thy name.
Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
But Satan now is wiser than of yore, and tempts by making rich, not making poor.
The good must merit God's peculiar care; But who but God can tell us who they are?
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
The same ambition can destroy or save, and make a patriot as it makes a knave.