A kingly crown to gain:

His blood-red banner streams afar:
Who follows in His train?

This carpenter's son was one of the most unpretentious men on earth;
utterly simple and honest--he would not even let anyone praise him.
When some one called him "good Master," he answered, quickly, "Why
callest thou me good? There is none good save one, that is, God." But
this simplicity has been taken with deprecation by his church, which
persists in heaping compliments upon him in conventional, courtly
style:

The company of angels
Are praising Thee on high;
And mortal men, and all things
Created, make reply:
All Glory, laud and honour,
To Thee, Redeemer, King....

The impression a modern man gets from all this is the unutterable
boredom that Heaven must be. Can one imagine a more painful occupation
than that of the saints--casting down their golden crowns around the
glassy sea--unless it be that of the Triumvirate itself, compelled to
sit through eternity watching these saints, and listening to their
mawkish and superfluous compliments!

But one can understand that such things are necessary in a monarchy;
they are necessary if you are going to have Good Society, and a Good
Society church. For Good Society is precisely the same thing as