Classic Poem

O rare and holy, O taper lit for me
Before vast altars in the lonely dark, —
Without your gleam, dim were my soul to see
Where in star-spaces, imperial and stark
And sacrosanct, his ancient throned reign
God holds o'er stars and swallows as of yore;
Up through his Gothic vault I yearned in vain
And turned back baffled from him evermore.
In secular joys I must interpret heaven;
In ecstasies profane I must embrace
His glory, — seek in revels lightning-riven
All I shall ever witness of his face, —
And in wild flight, with passion winged and shod,
Circle and beat the citadel of God.