Harold
Monro .
And God ! High -throned
He dwells
in
farthest
sky,
Into
whose
presence
none shall
ever
pass ,
Save
by
the
flesh
of
Jesus
Christ, which
I
Reveal
to
all
believers
in
the Mass
.
Ah
,
when
His Holy
Spirit
amid
fumes
Of incense
lifts me
out
of
self
-
control
,
No heretic
can
dream
how He illumes
The innermost recesses
of
my
soul
.
That
is
a
mystery
I
alone may
scan
,
Privileged
in
my
character
of
priest
;
So
now
in
my
capacity
of
man
,
I
ask
you
all
to
come with me and
Caustic
.
-
feast
.
Innocent
.
Sir,
who
are you
?
Caustic
.
A
man
of
good
intent
:
A
leech
-
a
bodily
salvation
-
giver
.
That
sense mysterious
of
the sacrament
Exists
not
in
your
soul
,
but
in
your
liver
.
God
is
a
fiction
of
the nervous
cells
Connected
with
a
portion
of
the brain
.
Religion
is
disease
,
and
it
expels
Spontaneous thought
and
renders
manhood
vain
.
How
,
at
the last
,
you always
,
in
your
need
,
Summon
the leech
to
save
you
,
makes me smile
.
I
diagnose
a
man
's
religious
creed
By
testing
the
condition
of
his
bile
.
[
Joseph
arrives
.
God
,
in
the
end
,
and heaven
and
earth will
sink
Back
to
eternal
Chaos
whence
they
came
.
Both He and
you
are
tottering
on
the
brink
Of epilepsy
,
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