Classic Poem

Here gold and silver glimmer everywhere,
Through gracious twilight, down the solemn aisles;
A cloud of incense dims the dreamy air,
As up yon stair a long procession files.

They reach the altar; priests and chorus-boys
Are all enrobed in scarlet draped in white;
How quiet! Not the shadow of a noise
Disturbs the pious meaning of the sight.

Then like a constellation, star by star,
The golden candlesticks have burst in bloom;
Now like great winds from Paradise afar
The glorious organ pipes begin to boom.

The sweet, sharp voices of the bird-like boys
Respond to deep-toned chantings of the priest;
O what a call to heaven's transcendent joys
Beside the Bridegroom at His wedding feast!

Yon sculptured angel with the golden wings
Seems beckoning to a blissful realm above;
Ah, is it true, that song the choir-boy sings,
Of endless life, of everlasting love?

And then my gaze falls on a wooden saint
Whose wooden feet long in this niche have stood;
Poor little doll! Your lips, through gaudy paint,
Seem saying “I would help you if I could.”

O wooden saint, outside, on yonder square,
The Inquisition fixed its fearful stake;
O, whisper not the horrors that were there,—
And all enacted for Religion's sake!

Down yonder street, housed in yon rambling pile,
Are hideous Aztec idols, all a-grin;—
Nay, do not shirk my question with a smile,—
Those Gods, like yours, presumed to pardon sin!

There stands the Aztec sacrificial stone;
Above it frightful Aztec idols scowl;
They heard ten thousand human victims groan,
And heard a million maddened votaries howl!

Perplexed, confused between the warring creeds,
I can not tell which way to turn, in sooth.
My anxious soul, beset by sorest needs,
Like Pilate, still is asking “What is Truth?”

O, breathe me, wooden saint, one precious word!
Come, tell me, as we two forever part,—
Will all these prayers in heaven at last be heard,
Or end forever at your wooden heart?