Howe'er it be, dispute is vain.
On all without thou hold'st thy reign,
Nor less on all within;
Each mortal passion's fierce career,
Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear,
Thou goadest into sin.

Whene'er a sunny gleam appears,
To brighten up our vale of tears,
Thou art not distant far;
'Mid such brief solace of our lives,
Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives
To tools of death and war.

Thus, from the moment of our birth,
Long as we linger on the earth,
Thou rulest the fate of men;
Thine are the pangs of life's last hour,
And--who dare answer?--is thy power,
Dark Spirit! ended THEN?

[The worthy and learned clergyman by whom this species of hymn
has been translated desires, that, for fear of misconception, we
should warn the reader to recollect that it is composed by a
heathen, to whom the real causes of moral and physical evil are
unknown, and who views their predominance in the system of the
universe as all must view that appalling fact who have not the
benefit of the Christian revelation. On our own part, we beg to
add, that we understand the style of the translator is more