How Well He Fell Asleepl

Whenever Philosophy Has Taken Into Its Plan Religion, It Has Ended In Skepticism; And Whenever Religion Excludes Philosophy, Or The Spirit Of Free Inquiry, It Leads To Willful Blindness And Superstition.

Falsehood Is Fire In Stubble; It Likewise Turns All The Light Stuff Around It Into Its Own Substance For A Moment, One Crackling Blazing Moment, And Then Dies; And All Its Converts Are Scattered In The Wind, Without Place Or Evidence Of Their Existence, As Viewless As The Wind Which Scatters Them.

As There Is Much Beast And Some Devil In Man, So Is There Some Angel And Some God In Him. The Beast And The Devil May Be Conquered, But In This Life Never Destroyed.

A Falsehood Is, In One Sense, A Dead Thing; But Too Often It Moves About, Galvanized By Self-will, And Pushes The Living Out Of Their Seats.

Forth From His Dark And Lonely Hiding-place, (portentous Sight!) The Owlet Atheism, Sailing On Obscene Wings Athwart The Noon, Drops His Blue-fringed Lids, And Holds Them Close, And Hooting At The Glorious Sun In Heaven, Cries Out, ''where Is It?''