And These Gems Of Heav'n,

Earth Felt The Wound; And Nature From Her Seat, Sighing Through All Her Works, Gave Signs Of Woe That All Was Lost.

O Conscience, Into What Abyss Of Fears And Horrors Hast Thou Driven Me, Out Of Which I Find No Way, From Deep To Deeper Plunged.

New Presbyter Is But Old Priest Writ Large.

Yet Much Remains To Conquer Still; Peace Hath Her Victories No Less Renowned Then War, New Foes Arise Threatening To Bind Our Souls With Secular Chains: Help Us To Save Free Conscience From The Paw Of Hireling Wolves Whose Gospel Is Their Maw.

Virtue Hath No Tongue To Check Vice's Pride.