Classic Poem

'Tis nobly done, a layman's creed professed
When all our faith of late hung on a priest,
His doubtful words like oracles received,
And when we could not understand, believed.
Triumphant faith now takes a nobler course,
'Tis gentle, but resists intruding force:
Weak reason may pretend an awful sway,
And consistories charge her to obey;
(Strange nonsense, to confine the sacred dove,
And narrow rules prescribe how she shall love,
And how upon the barren waters move)
But she rejects and scorns their proud pretence,
And whilst those grovelling things depend on sense
She mounts on certain wings, and flies on high,
And looks upon a dazzling mystery
With fixed and steady and an eagle's eye.
Great King of verse, that dost instruct and please,
As Orpheus softened the rude savages,
And gently freest us from a double care,
The bold Socinian and the papal chair:
Thy judgement is correct, thy fancy young,
Thy numbers, as thy generous faith, are strong,
Whilst through dark prejudice they force their way
Our souls shake off the night and view the day.
We live secure from mad enthusiasts' rage,
And fond tradition now grown blind with age.
Let factious and ambitious souls repine,
Thy reason's strong, and generous thy design,
And always to do well is only thine.