Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.

Smiles form the channels of a future tear.

My altars are the mountains and the ocean.

Religion-freedom-vengeance-what you will, A word's enough to raise mankind to kill.

No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!

Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling.

This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.