Classic Poem

When all the altar lights were dead,
And mockery choked the world's desire;
When every faith on earth had fled,
A spirit rose on wings of fire.

He rose and sang. I never heard
A song of such ecstatic breath;
And, though I caught no throbbing word,
I knew that he had conquered death.

He sang no comfortable things;
But as a shaft had pierced him through;
And dark stain between his wings
Grew darker as the glory grew.

He sang the agonies of loss;
Of farewells, and love's last kiss.
He sang in heaven as on a cross,
A spirit crucified with bliss.

Over these ruined shrines he rose,
These crumbling graves where all men grope!
Racked by the universal throes,
And singing the eternal hope.