In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.
In indolent vacuity of thought.
They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.
'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it.
It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
The Cross! There, and there only (though the deist rave, and the atheist, if Earth bears so base a slave); There and there only, is the power to save.