SUPERSTITION.
Reading edition
Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars’ hill, and said, Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too superstitious.—Acts, xvii. 22.
’Tis Superstition! that Dread bolt that seems to him and thee the home Of torture, is the earth, the beauteous earth, Created by thy God, a perfect thing, All loveliness, and life, and light, to be The dwelling-place of thee and thine—but this, This ignorant, besotted fool, sees but In that beneficent gift, where all is formed For happiness, a scene of punishment And death; turns every joy to bitterness, Reproaches God with never-ending fears, And, like a thankless wretch, dashes aside The cup of happiness the Almighty hand Gives to his lips, when he might know his praise, And gratitude can but be shown by free And innocent enjoyment; not content That his own soul must suffer misery, He would crush down his fellow-beings with The weight of his own gloom. His voice shall fill The earth with one loud cry; at his command, The homes of thousands shall be desolate; At his command, fathers shall give their sons To be devoured by lingering fire, or stretched Upon a wheel, whose racking torture tears The victim limb-meal, and then lift their hands, Their impious hands, to heaven, and call the deed Of blasphemy a holy act. Weak fools! To think it pleaseth Him who made them in His image—that that image should be torn, Defaced, and blotted. Constantia Louisa Riddell.
But hence, far hence be ostentatious pomp, And superstition’s tinsel. Samuel Hayes.
Fell Superstition leads Her horrid train, engendered in the womb Of her own mad imaginings. A. Alexander.