Even Such The Contrast That, Where'Er We Move, To The Mind'S Eye Religion Doth Present; Now With Her Own Deep Quietness Content; Then, Like The Mountain, Thundering From Above Against The Ancient Pine-Trees Of The Grove And The Land'S Humblest Comforts. Now Her Mood Recalls The Transformation Of The Flood, Whose Rage The Gentle Skies In Vain Reprove; Earth Cannot Check. O Terrible Excess Of Headstrong Will! Can This Be Piety? No, Some Fierce Maniac Hath Usurped Her Name; And Scourges England Struggling To Be Free: Her Peace Destroyed! Her Hopes A Wilderness! Her Blessings Cursed, Her Glory Turned To Shame!