Sir Lewis Morris (1833–1907)

CALL no faith false which e’er has brought

Relief to any laden life,

Cessation from the pain of thought,

Refreshment ’mid the dust of strife.

What though the thing to which they kneel

Be dumb and dead as wood or stone,

Though all the rapture which they feel

Be for the worshipper alone?

They worship, they adore, they bow

Before the Ineffable Source, before

The hidden soul of good; and thou,

With all thy wit, what dost thou more?

Kneel with them, only if there come

Some zealot or sleek knave who strives

To mar the sanctities of home,

To tear asunder wedded lives;

Or who by subtle wile has sought,

By shameful promise, shameful threat,

To turn the thinker from his thought,

To efface the eternal landmarks set

’Twixt faith and knowledge; hold not peace

For such, but like a sudden flame

Let loose thy scorn on him, nor cease

Till thou hast cover’d him with shame.