The New Gospel

Drink deep the Persian Spring, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Thus, Ants who for a Grain employ their Cares,

Think all the Business of Earth is theirs.

Thus Honey-combs seem Palaces to Bees;

And mites imagine all the World’s a Cheese.

When Pride in such contemptuous Beings lies,

In Beetles, Britons, Bugs and Butterflys,

Shall we, like Reptiles, glory in Conceit?

All nature is but Art, unknown to thee;

All chance, direction which thou cans’t not see;

All discord, harmony not understood;

All partial evil, universal good.

Know then thyself,

Presume not God to scan.

The proper study of mankind is man.