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FATHER.

Perhaps thou'rt right, my son; for even the wicked

Will sometimes weep at lofty, generous deeds.
Some broken traces of our noble nature
Were yet preserved; therefore our great Creator
Still loved his work, and thought it worth redemption.
And therefore his bless'd Son, our generous Master,
Did, as the elder brother of that race,
Whose form he took, lay down his life to save us.
But I have read thee, in our sacred book,
His gentle words of love.

CORDENIUS.

Thou hast! thou hast! they're stirring in my heart:

Each fibre of my body thrills in answer
To the high call.—

FATHER.

The Spirit of Power, my son, is dealing with thee.

CORDENIUS (after a pause).

One thing amazes me,—yet it is excellent.

FATHER.

And what amazes thee? Unbosom freely

What passes in thy mind.

CORDENIUS.

That this religion which dilates our thoughts

Of God Supreme to an infinity