Classic Poem

O land of carven imageries,
Where every man doth hew his god,
And every forehead beats the sod
Before the dumb and sightless lies!

The peasant worships in his cot,
The lordling in his pictured hall;
They turn from Thee, both great and small;
Therefore, my God, forgive them not.

The anger of the Lord is rolled
On all the arrogant and proud,
The steeds and chariots clanking loud,
The stores of silver and of gold;

The groves of terebinth and oak
Where Baal delights in dance and song,
And Moloch scowls upon his throng
Of worshippers through flame and smoke;

The beetling towers and battlements,
The marble courts and palaces,
The ships of Tarshish cleaving seas
From isles of gum and frankincense.

In that affrighted day shall men
Cast out their idols to the moles,
And hide within the mountain holes,
And fight with monsters for a den.

For terribly shall God descend
Upon the wicked, wicked earth
To sweep it like a besomed hearth
Till Judah's strong delusions end.