Classic Poem

“B UT Faith is cold, and wilful men are strong,
And the blithe world, with bells and harness proud,
Rides tinkling by, so musical and loud,
It drowns the Eternal Word, the Angelic Song;
And one by one the weary, listless throng
Steals out of church, and leaves the choir unseen
Of winged guards to weep, where prayer had been,
That souls immortal find that hour too long.
Most fatal token of a falling age!
Wit ever busy, Learning ever new,
Unsleeping Fancy, Eloquence untir'd;—
Prayer only dull! The Saints' and Martyrs' page
A tedious scroll; the scorn'd and faithful few
Left to bewail such beauty undesired.”