Skeptic, whoe’er thou art, tell, if thou knowest,
Why every nation, every clime, though all
In laws, in rights, in manners disagree,
With one consent expect another world
Where wickedness shall weep? Why in each breast
Is placed a friendly monitor, that prompts,
Informs, directs, encourages, forbids?
Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends,
Or joy on secret good? Why Conscience acts
With tenfold force, when sickness, age, or pain
Stands tottering on the precipice of death?
Or why such horrors gnaw the guilty soul
Of dying sinners, while the trusting man sleeps
Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires?
—Robert Glynn