Thus I Set My Printless Feet O'er

Indu'd With Sanctity Of Reason.

The Nodding Horror Of Whose Shady Brows Threats The Forlorn And Wandering Passenger.

There Are No Songs Comparable To The Songs Of Zion, No Orations Equal To Those Of The Prophets, And No Politics Like Those Which The Scriptures Teach.

He Who Would Not Be Frustrate Of His Hope To Write Well Hereafter In Laudable Things Ought Himself To Be A True Poem.

Truth Is As Impossible To Be Soiled By Any Outward Touch As The Sunbeam.