The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The sweet words Of Christian promise, words that even yet Might stem destruction, were they wisely preached, Are muttered o‘er by men, whose tones proclaim How flat and wearisome they feel their trade: Rank scoffers some, but most too indolent To deem them falsehoods or to know their truth. Oh! blasphemous! the Book of Life is made A superstitious instrument, on which We gabble o’er the oaths we mean to break; For all must swear—all and in every place, College and wharf, council and justice-court; All, all must swear, the briber and the bribed, Merchant and lawyer, senator and priest, The rich, the poor, the old man and the young; All, all make up one scheme of perjury, That faith doth reel; the very name of God Sounds like a juggler’s charm; and, bold with joy, Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, (Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism, Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, Drops his blue-fringéd lids, and holds them close, And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven, Cries out, ‘Where is it?’ Thankless too for peace,