The Prose Works of Jonathan Swift, D.D. - Volume 07 / Historical and Political Tracts-Irish

Truth is eternal, and the Son of Heaven,

Bright effluence of th'immortal ray,

Chief cherub, and chief lamp, of that high sacred Seven,

Which guard the throne by night, and are its light by day;

First of God's darling attributes,

Thou daily seest him face to face,

Nor does thy essence fix'd depend on giddy circumstance

Of time or place,

Two foolish guides in every sublunary dance;

How shall we find Thee then in dark disputes?

How shall we search Thee in a battle gain'd,

Or a weak argument by force maintain'd?

In dagger contests, and th'artillery of words,

(For swords are madmen's tongues, and tongues are madmen's swords,)

Contrived to tire all patience out,

And not to satisfy the doubt?