Classic Poem

IF waiting by the time-crown'd halls,
Which nurtur'd us for Christ in youth,
We love to watch on the grey walls
The lingering gleam of Evangelic Truth;
If to the spoilers of the soul,
Proudly we shew our banner'd scroll,
And bid them our old war-cry hear,
“God is my Light: whom need IFear!”
How bleak, that hour, across our purpose high,
Sweeps the chill damping shade of thoughtless years gone by!

How count we then lost eve and morn,
The bell unwelcom'd, prayer unsaid,
And holy hours and days outworn
In youth's wild race, Sin's lesson newly read!
Then deem we, “ill could Angels brook
That lore that on our lips we took,
On lips profane celestial lore:”
And hardly dare we keep the door,
Though sentries sworn: the memory thrills so keen,
How with unready hearts at first we ventured in.