Classic Poem

When you bid me discuss
The status poetic,
'Tis likely that thus
I may grow homiletic.

Who looks with old eyes
On the verse-world around him,
Sees much to surprise,
And more to astound him.

The old lights have ceased;
Late suns are subsiding;
New stars have increased —
There are others in hiding!

Old themes are out-classed;
Old standards are altered
(Let us not stone the Past
If its mission has faltered!);

And then, as it seems,
Defying Apollo,
There are metrical schemes
Not easy to follow!

But, where there are bells
There must also be ringers,
And where the heart swells
There will always be singers.

And each singer that sings,
Must chant as he chooses,
And the least likely things
To be " scrapped" are the Muses.

Yes: Song must endure,
Nothing mortal can stop it;
Let us build it up sure,
Let us skilfully prop it!

It lightens men's play,
It softens their sorrow;
It will serve for To-day,
It will stay for To-morrow;

It will end — with the Race;
And one minstrel rejoices
To have lived — by God's grace —
To join in the voices.