Classic Poem

Sweet type of Jew! except that thou
Earned with thy hands thy frugal food,
And led not crowds but solitude,
I almost seem to feel thee, now,
The highest proof of Holyrood!
Polishing lenses for the light
That is the Revelation pure,
Thy convex mind infinite sight
Glassed of the wide Infinitude
And graved pellucid Literature:
Nature and Mind one substance were,
The bread and wine religions take;
God-will aboundeth everywhere
And cannot anything forsake.