"Sister Charity, prythee allow me to state,"

Cries Faith, in a tone of contemptuous sneering, "That while you affect to be meek and sedate, Your conduct is cunning, your tone domineering.

"In the times that are gone my world-harassing name "Received some accession of strength every hour; "St. Bartholomew's Massacre hallowed my fame, "And Sicily's Vespers asserted my power.

"When martyrs in multitudes rushed at my call, "To peril their lives for Theology's sake, "Mine too was the voice that cried Sacrifice all, "With gaol and with gibbet, with faggot and

stake.'

"When the banner of orthodox slaughter was furled, "And subjects no more from each other dissented, "I set them at war with the rest of the world, "And for centuries national struggles fomented.

"What are all the great heroes on history's page, "But puppets who figured as I pulled the strings? "Crusades I engendered in every age,

"And Faith was the leader of armies and kings.

"In those days of my glory Hope followed my track, "In warfare a firm and impartial ally,

"For she constantly patted both sides on the back, "And promised them both a reward in the sky."

Here Charity, heaving disconsolate sighs,
That said "I admit what I deeply deplore,"
Uplifted to heaven her tear-suffused eyes,

Which seemed but to anger her sister the more.

"Nay, none of your cant, hypocritical minx!"
She cried in a louder and bitterer tone,
"If you feel any fancy to whimper, methinks

"You might weep that the days of my glory are

gone.

"What wreck of my palmy puissance is left? "What bravos and bullies my greatness declare? "Of the holy and dear Inquisition bereft,

"All my fierce fulminations are impotent air!"

With the look of an angel, the voice of a dove, Thus Charity answered- "Since Concord alone "Can prosper our partnership mission of love

"And exalt the attraction that calls her her own,

...

“I would not, dear sisters, e'en harbor a thought "That might peril a friendship so truly divine; "And if in our feelings a change has been wrought, “I humbly submit that the change is not mine.....

"But now when men, turning from dogmas to deeds, "Bear the scriptural dictum of Jesus in mind, "That salvation depends not on canons and creeds, "But on love of the Lord and the love of our kind,

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My voice can be heard, and my arguments weighed, "Which explains why such numerous converts of late

"Are under my love-breathing standard arrayed, "Who once, beneath yours, were excited to hate.

"Superstition must throw off Religion's disguise;

"For men, now enlightened, not darkling, like owls, "While they reverence priests who are holy and wise, "Will no longer be hoodwinked by cassocks or cowls.

"If, sisters! forgetting your primitive troth,

"You would still part the world into tyrants and slaves,

"What wonder that sages should look on you both "As the virtues of dupes for the profits of knaves?

"But reflect, you are both of you nought when we

part;

"While I, 'tis well known, can supply Faith and

Hope,

"When I choose for my temple an innocent heart."

What to the jibing modern do they seem?
An ignis fatuus chase, a phantasy, a dream! —

Yet for enlightened moral Alchemists

There still exists

A philosophic stone, whose magic spell

No tongue may tell,

Which renovates the soul's decaying health,

And what it touches turns to purest mental wealth.

This secret is revealed in every trace

Of Nature's face,

To smiling ends,

Whose seeming frown invariably tends

Transmuting ills into their opposite,

And all that shocks the sense to subsequent delight.—

Seems Earth unlovely in her robe of snow?

Where Nature in her subterranean Ark,

Then look below,

Silent and dark,

Already has each floral germ unfurled

That shall revive and clothe the dead and naked world.

Behold those perished flowers to earth consigned They, like mankind, Seek in their grave new birth. By nature's power, Each in its hour,

Clothed in new beauty, from its tomb shall spring, And from its tube or chalice heavenward incense fling.

Laboratories of a wider fold

I now behold,

Where are prepared the harvests yet unborn

Of wine, oil, corn.

In those mute rayless banquet halls I see

Myriads of coming feasts with all their revelry.

Yon teeming and minuter cells enclose

The embryos

Of fruits and seeds, food for the feathered race,

Whose chanted grace,

Swelling in choral gratitude on high,

Shall with thanksgiving anthems melodize the sky.

And what materials, mystic Alchemist!

To fabricate this ever-varied feast,

Dost Thou enlist

For man, bird, beast?

Whence the life, plenty, music, beauty, bloom?

From silence, languor, death, unsightliness, and

gloom!