I cannot hold the book as one inspired
Peculiarly, or more divinely sent
Than other books, which seem as deeply fired
With brands from Heaven lent.

Yet, when I think how many shrouded ages
Of burden'd souls have read, with brightening eye,
The promises and marvels of its pages,
And laid their burdens by;

Or call up scenes through which that book was guide —
The Pilgrims that fore-lived the Stripes and Stars ,
The Scottish Covenant, and bleak hill-side;
Or Cromwell and his wars; —

Yes, when I think of these, though reason fails
To see the inspiration you assign,
The deeper logic of the heart prevails,
And owns the book divine.