Classic Poem

Who , though with soul that else were scarce divined,
But feels it flutter as he lingers here,
And looks around? The very atmosphere
Seems redolent and mineral of mind;
Within ten thousand thousand cells enshrined,
From every flower that blows, what sumptuous store!
From every varied vein of mental ore
Riches of riches of what wealth combined!
“Our Father,” certes, of the heaven of thought,
Dispensing wide imperishable food
To hungry souls; full fount that knows no drought;
Illimitable power of sovereign good,
Binding strange peoples in close brotherhood,
With bonds ne'er yet by guilds or kinship wrought.