of the ancient past; and the ramifications of the Trinity of a truly
Rational Religion, Mature, Science, and Art, where we have, instead of
idle prayers, addressed to gross material idols, or the impossible
entities hitherto depicted in theological systems, a feeling of real
satisfaction in learning how to live rather than to die, and in
practicing virtue and benevolence for their own sakes, than for
improbable rewards in the unsatisfactory hereafter, enunciated from
the theological platform.

Like a true religionist, Shelley tells us that aspirations to "Madre
Natura," like the following, should be poured out in silent, grateful
communion with Omnipresence, and not in temples made by hands:

Spirit of Nature! here!
In this interminable wilderness
Of worlds, at whose immensity
Even soaring fancy staggers,
Here is thy fitting temple.
Yet not the slightest leaf
That quivers to the passing breeze
Is less instinct with thee;
Yet not the meanest worm
That lurks in graves, and fattens on the dead
Less shares thy eternal breath.
Spirit of Nature! thou!
Imperishable as this scene,
Here is thy fitting temple.

From such a soul-inspiring altar should praises like these be raised,
and with what sacred feeling would the pure worshipper revel "where