Classic Poem

Ill fares the priest to-day, who blinks the faith
Of Easter, and, recoiling from the shock
Of the great theme submitted to his flock,
Reserves his thoughts about the Life and Death;
How false he feels when our high feast returns!
While, in his pulpit, on his sidelong eye
The chalice gleams, the great East window burns,
The snow-white board obtrudes its purity;
And he must go and bless it — yea, he goes!
Though covert ironies within him ask
Whether, in very deed, our Day-star rose;
'Tis sad to see him how he takes his mask
To meet the morning! timid and untrue,
And missing all the sweet airs and the dew!