For What Is The Gift Of The

Belief Of Some Sort Is The Lifeblood Of Art.

Christianity Has Been Cruel In Much To The Human Race. It Has Quenched Much Of The Sweet Joy And Gladness Of Life; It Has Caused The Natural Passions And Affections Of It To Be Held As Sins.

The Philosopher Stands At His Desk In The Lecture Hall, And Demonstrates Away The Soul Of Man, And With Exact Thought Measures Out His Atoms And Resolves Him Back To Gas And Air. But The Revolutionary, Below In The Crowd, Hears, And Only Translates What He Hears Thus To His Brethren: 'let Us Drink While We May; Property Is Robbery; This Life Is All; Let Us Kill And Eat; There Is No God.

You Know The Ark Of Israel And The Calf Of Belial Were Both Made Of Gold. Religion Has Never Yet Changed The Metal Of Her One Adoration.

Christianity ... Has Produced The Iniquities Of The Inquisition, The Egotism And Celibacy Of The Monasteries, The Fury Of Religious Wars, The Ferocity Of The Hussite, Of The Catholic, Of The Puritan, Of The Spaniard, Of The Irish Orangeman And Of The Irish Papist; It Has Divided Families, Alienated Friends, Lighted The Torch Of Civil War, And Borne The Virgin And The Greybeard To The Burning Pile, Broken Delicate Limbs Upon The Wheel And Wrung The Souls And Bodies Of Innocent Creatures On The Rack; All This It Has Done, And Done In The Name Of God.