of man has given;
And think their foolish pledge a band
More potent far than God's command.
On this new plan they cleverly
Work morals by machinery;
Keeping men virtuous by a tether,
Like gangs of negroes chain'd together.

Then, Temperance, if thus it be,
They know no further need of thee.
This pledge usurps thy ancient throne--
Alas! thy occupation's gone!
From earth thou may'st unheeded rise,
And like Astraea--seek the skies.

MARTIN LUTHER.

AN ODE.

Who sits upon the Pontiff's throne?
On Peter's holy chair
Who sways the keys? At such a time
When dullest ears may hear the chime
Of coming thunders--when dark skies
Are writ with crimson prophecies,
A wise man should be there;
A godly man, whose life might be
The living logic of the sea;
One quick to know, and keen to feel--
A fervid man, and full of zeal,
Should sit in Peter's chair.

Alas! no fervid man is there,
No earnest, honest heart;
One who, though dress'd in priestly guise,
Looks on the world with worldling's eyes;
One who can trim the courtier's smile,
Or weave the diplomatic wile,
But knows no deeper art;
One who can dally with fair forms,
Whom a well-pointed period warms--
No man is he to hold the helm
Where rude winds blow, and wild waves whelm,
And creaking timbers start.

In vain did Julius pile sublime
The vast and various dome,
That makes the kingly pyramid's pride,
And the huge Flavian wonder, hide
Their heads in shame--these gilded stones
(O heaven!) were very blood and bones
Of those whom Christ did come
To save--vile grin of slaves who sold
Celestial rights for earthy gold,
Marketing grace with merchant's measure,
To prank with Europe's pillaged treasure
The pride of purple Rome.

The measure of her sins is full,
The scarlet-vested whore!
Thy murderous and lecherous race
Have sat too long i' the holy place;
The knife shall lop what no drug cures,
Nor Heaven permits, nor earth endures,
The monstrous mockery more.
Behold! I swear it, saith the Lord:
Mine elect warrior girds the sword--
A nameless man, a miner's son,
Shall tame thy pride, thou haughty one,
And pale the painted whore!

Earth's mighty men are nought. I chose
Poor fishermen before
To preach my gospel to the poor;
A pauper boy from door to door
That piped his hymn. By his strong word
The