By the fair laws of thy firm-pointed pen,
God's services no longer shall put on
A sluttishness, for pure religion:
No longer shall our churches' frighted stones
Lie scatter'd like the burnt and martyr'd bones
Of dead devotion; nor faint marbles weep
In their sad ruines; nor religion keep
A melancholly mansion in those cold
Urns. Like God's sanctuaries they look'd of old;
Now seem they temples consecrate to none,
Or to a new god Desolation.
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