Classic Poem

The sound of anthems rarer grows and faint:
Shamed in his robes is many a mummering priest.
How empty now the sacerdotal feast—
Mere bread, mere wine, rises the vague complaint.
Now wider spread the canker and the taint
Of social woes by putrid creeds increased;
Loud grow the jeers of those once called the least
'Gainst pomp and panoply and crusted paint.

But underneath the tumult and the moan,
Beyond the jarring blows at Time's slow door,
God's groping orchestra cons o'er and o'er
That mightier music no man e'er has known.
Be calm, my soul, for soon the bell chimes clear
That all may know—the Better Days draw near!