Here you will find the Poem Living Without God In The World of poet Charles Lamb
Mystery of God! thou brave & beauteous world! Made fair with light, & shade, & stars, & flowers; Made fearful and august with woods & rocks, Jagg'd precipice, black mountain, sea in storms; Sun, over all-that no co-rival owns, But thro' heaven's pavement rides in despite Or mockery of the Littleness of Man! I see a mighty Arm, by Man unseen, Resistless-not to be controuled; that guides, In solitude of unshared energies, All these thy ceaseless miracles, O World! Arm of the world, I view thee, & I muse On Man; who, trusting in his mortal strength, Leans on a shadowy staff-a staff of dreams. We consecrate our total hopes and fears To idols, flesh & blood, our love (heaven's due), Our praise & admiration; praise bestowed By man on man, and acts of worship done To a kindred nature, certes do reflect Some portion of the glory, & rays oblique, Upon the politic worshipper-so man Extracts a pride from his humility. Some braver spirits, of the modern stamp, Affect a Godhead nearer: these talk loud Of mind, & independent intellect; Of energies omnipotent in man; And man of his own fate artificer- Yea, of his own life lord, & of the days Of his abode on earth, when time shall be That life immortal shall become an Art; Or Death, by chemic practices deceived, Forego the scent which for six thousand years, Like a good hound, he has followed, or at length, More manners learning, & a decent sense, And rev'rence of a philosophic world, Relent, & leave to prey on carcasses. But these are fancies of a few: the rest, Atheists, or Deists only in the name, By word or deed deny a God. They eat Their daily bread, & draw the breath of heaven, Without a thought or thanks; heav'n's roof to them Is but a painted ceiling hung with lamps, No more, that light them to their purposes. They 'wander loose about.' They nothing see, Themselves except, and creatures like themselves, That liv'd short-sighted, impotent to save. So on their dissolute spirits, soon or late, Destruction cometh 'like an armed man,' Or like a dream of murder in the night, Withering their mortal faculties, & breaking The bones of all their pride.-