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Who have on earth a virtuous part fulfill'd? The dear redeem'd of Godlike love, again To their primeval destiny restored? It is a generous, powerful, noble faith.

Did I not tell thee, as we pass'd along, It well became a Roman and a soldier?

Nay, worthy Sylvius, somewhat more of meekness And less of martial ardour were becoming In those whose humble Lord stretch'd forth his hand, His saving hand, to ev'n the meanest slave Who bends beneath an earthly master's rod. This faith is meet for all of human kind.

Forgive him, father: see, he stands reproved; His heart is meek, though ardent; It is, indeed, a faith for all mankind.

We feel it such, my son, press'd as we are; On every side beset with threatening terrors. Look on these ghastly walls, these shapeless pillars, These heaps of human bones,—this court of death; Ev'n here, as in a temple, we adore