Classic Poem

O STRONG iconoclast! whence came
Your Titan stroke?
Whence, leaping from your lips of flame,
The words you spoke?

What impulse fired you, that you trod,
Alone, the field,
And in the sight of man and God
Reversed the shield, —

The dreadful shield of injured law, —
Till, in the place
Of wrath and doom, the people saw
A Father's face?

O Channing! years have had no power
That sight to dim:
Our eyes, new-opened from that hour,
Still turn to Him, —

Our Father, — full of grace and truth,
And veiled no more
In creeds unholy and uncouth
Like those of yore.

So truth shall live; so error die.
Iconoclast!
The gods you shivered crumbling lie!
Your labors last!