Conscience is instinct bred in the house, <br />Feeling and Thinking propagate the sin <br />By an unnatural breeding in and in. <br />I say, Turn it out doors, <br />Into the moors. <br />I love a life whose plot is simple, <br />And does not thicken with every pimple, <br />A soul so sound no sickly conscience binds it, <br />That makes the universe no worse than 't finds it. <br />I love an earnest soul, <br />Whose mighty joy and sorrow <br />Are not drowned in a bowl, <br />And brought to life to-morrow; <br />That lives one tragedy, <br />And not seventy; <br />A conscience worth keeping; <br />Laughing not weeping; <br />A conscience wise and steady, <br />And forever ready; <br />Not changing with events, <br />Dealing in compliments; <br />A conscience exercised about <br />Large things, where one may doubt. <br />I love a soul not all of wood, <br />Predestinated to be good, <br />But true to the backbone <br />Unto itself alone, <br />And false to none; <br />Born to its own affairs, <br />Its own joys and own cares; <br />By whom the work which God begun <br />Is finished, and not undone; <br />Taken up where he left off, <br />Whether to worship or to scoff; <br />If not good, why then evil, <br />If not good god, good devil. <br />Goodness! you hypocrite, come out of that, <br />Live your life, do your work, then take your hat. <br />I have no patience towards <br />Such conscientious cowards. <br />Give me simple laboring folk, <br />Who love their work, <br />Whose virtue is song <br />To cheer God along.<br /><br />Henry David Thoreau<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conscience/
