To take a thought, original and good,
And claim it as one’s own thought, own design;
To see another’s work and call it, “Mine,”
Accepting honor as the author should;
To speak until the people understood
The thief to be the writer of each line,
Scratching the author’s name off from the spine
Till truth’s uncov’ring be no likelihood–
Delusion tempts souls to these actions take,
Tries to erase the author, steal his place.
And do we not each make this fatal nod?
The author still is living and awake,
Yet we would rob his glory, slight his face.
Have we not all been plagiarists of God?