Page:The Emigrants.pdf/69



Some taste of happiness, my soul is pain'd By the variety of woes that Man For Man creates—­his blessings often turn'd To plagues and curses: Saint‐like Piety, Misled by Superstition, has destroy'd More than Ambition; and the sacred flame Of Liberty becomes a raging fire, When Licence and Confusion bid it blaze. From thy high throne, above yon radiant stars, O Power Omnipotent! with mercy view This suffering globe, and cause thy creatures cease, With savage fangs, to tear her bleeding breast: Refrain that rage for power, that bids a Man, Himself a worm, desire unbounded rule O'er beings like himself: Teach the hard hearts Of rulers, that the poorest hind, who dies For their unrighteous quarrels, in thy sight