The Church’s one foundation

Weary of earth and laden with my sin, I look at heaven, and long to enter in.

’Mid toil and tribulation, And tumult of her war, She waits the consummation Of peace for evermore; Till with the vision glorious Her longing eyes are blest,

Yet Saints their watch are keeping, Their cry goes up, ‘How long?’ And soon the night of weeping Shall be the morn of song.

Hamlet most brings home to us at once the sense of the soul's infinity, and the sense of the doom which not only circumscribes that infinity but appears to be its offspring.

You cannot dictate to any man what shall be his morality or his own religion. He must make his own choice. Your attempts to impose total sexual abstinence on him he regards as a meddlesome and impertinent interference with the expression …

And so we shake The snowy flake From cedar and myrtle fair; And the boughs that nod On the hills of God, We raise to his glory there.