For gold, the true sort?--"Gold in heaven, I hope;
But I keep earth's, if God will!"

Enough! The priest took the grave's grim yield;
The parents, they eyed that price of sin
As if _thirty pieces_ lay revealed
On the place _to bury strangers in_,
The hideous Potter's Field.

But the priest bethought him: "'Milk that's spilt'
--You know the adage! Watch and pray!
Saints tumble to earth with so slight a tilt!
It would build a new altar; that we may!"
And the altar therewith was built.

* * * * *

Why I deliver this horrible verse?
As the text of a sermon, which now I preach:
Evil or good may be better or worse
In the human heart, but the mixture of each
Is a marvel and a curse.

The candid incline to surmise of late
That the Christian faith may be false, I find;
For our Essays-and-Reviews' debate
Begins to tell on the public mind,
And Colenso's words have weight:

I still to suppose it true, for my part,