Classic Poem

I

Spue out thy filth, thy flesh abjure;
Let not contingents thee defile,
For transients only are impure,
And aery things thy soul beguile.

II

Unfelt, unseen, let those things be
Which to thy spirit were unknown,
When to thy blessed infancy
The world, thyself, thy God was shown.

III

All that is great and stable stood
Before thy purer eyes at first:
All that in visibles is good
Or pure, or fair, or unaccurst.

Whatever else thou now dost see
In custom, action, or desire,
'Tis but a part of misery
In which all men at once conspire.