Alas! for those, whose bigot zeal would fain
Compress and crush, with Procrustean force,
All energies, all spirits fine and coarse,
All tempers, feelings, habits, heart and brain,
Nation, race, climate, white and negro stain
Into one changeless and unbending course
Of discipline and form; without remorse
Devoting church and sect to Satan's chain.
Chalmers, we do not worship at one shrine,
Albeit, I trust, both children of one Sire;
Nor would I wish my altar to be thine,
Delighting most thy greatness to admire,
When on our alien church its sunbeams shine
With warm effulgence of congenial fire.