Judge Not The Lord By

Pity! Religion Has So Seldom Found A Skilful Guide Into Poetic Ground! The Flowers Would Spring Where'er She Deign'd To Stray And Every Muse Attend Her In Her Way.

He Finds His Fellow Guilty Of A Skin Not Color'd Like His Own, And Having Pow'r T' Enforce The Wrong, For Such A Worthy Cause Dooms And Devotes Him As His Lawful Prey.

Man Disavows, And Deity Disowns Me: Hell Might Afford My Miseries A Shelter; Therefore Hell Keeps Her Ever-hungry Mouths All Bolted Against Me.

Fate Steals Along With Silent Tread, Found Oftenest In What Least We Dread; Frowns In The Storm With Angry Brow, But In The Sunshine Strikes The Blow.

I Am Monarch Of All I Survey, My Right There Is None To Dispute, From The Centre All Round To The Sea, I Am Lord Of The Fowl And The Brute.