I read his awful name, emblazon'd high With golden letters on th' illumin'd sky. - Anna Laetitia Barbauld

O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell;
Where in some pure and equal sky
Beneath thy soft indulgent eye
The modest virtues dwell.

We may think all religions beneficial, and believe of one alone that it is true.

This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.