Classic Poem

And is the Christ who rose with heaven-bright wings
Dead, dead for ever? Did he never rise
And cleave with helm and plume the shadowy skies?
What is this message that our sad age brings?
Oh, weird the low disastrous whisper rings
And fast around the darkening planet flies;
" Man stands alone; all former creeds were lies;
Truth open every heavenly doorway flings! "

The doors are open, and we gaze in dread
Thinking perchance some living God to see, —
Great eyes that burn from some divine vast head,
Or golden sceptre flaming terribly:
But our own shadow we behold instead,
And but for that the rooms would empty be!