Classic Poem

Sweet Iole! with pure and warm emotion,
I lay these worthless offerings at thy shrine,
And with them a true heart whose fond devotion
Is such as sister saints might feel for thine:
Grant me thy prayers! — and oh! disdain not mine —
But if henceforth none ever hear or see
Our cherished creed avouch'd by word or sign
It is because men call idolatry
The worship we have always deemed divine.
The World's misjudging incredulity
Allows no sacred light on earth to shine
Or understands it not if seen — and we
Must the true faith in our soul's cell confine
Or brave the persecutor's cruelty.