For every Guest who comes with him to sup,
The Host compounds a strangely mingled cup;--
Red Wine of Life and Dregs of Bitterness,
And, will-he, nil-he, each must drink it up.
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I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.
by Patience Worth
So this is God, this puppet, this figure,
This little pagan idol,
Man's words have fashioned him out!
He resides not save within a steepled place,
And he who would worship Him shall seek it,