Classic Poem

When I remember how in youth, misled
By bookish lore and intellectual pride,
And in life's grave realities untried,
I blindly rank'd the heart below the head,
And, to my self-sufficient follies wed,
Unletter'd worth and simple faith decried—
Paining sweet souls that then were at my side,
And now are number'd with the blessed dead—
‘Master,’ I cry—when this I call to mind—
‘Why did I not thy doctrine earlier know?
Then might I from remorseful thoughts be free
That haunt me now; for none had power like thee
My wrestling rebel spirit to lay low,
And with the cords of strong persuasion bind.’