I Should, Many A Good Day, Have

Absence - That Common Cure Of Love.

Oh, For A Forty-parson Power To Chant Thy Praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, For A Hymn Loud As The Virtues Thou Dost Loudly Vaunt, Not Practise!

Such Hath It Been--shall Be--beneath The Sun The Many Still Must Labour For The One.

Yet Still There Whispers The Small Voice Within, Heard Through Gain's Silence, And O'er Glory's Din; Whatever Creed Be Taught Or Land Be Trod, Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

I Deny Nothing, But Doubt Everything.