Classic Poem

Alas! my friend, 'tis motive power one needs
And not these idle fancies ill-advised;
Mere harness will not pull us up to Christ,
Without the strength of full and living creeds;
These shiny morals are no match for sin,
These empty trappings are not force nor speed;
What! shall we hope the chariot race to win
With straps and head-stalls only? To succeed
In that great race, to Faith alone is given—
On-looking Faith, whose object fires the will;
And, as the distance shrinks 'twixt earth and heaven,
Glows with its motion, and bears forward still,
Because it marks the goal with steadfast eye,
While smart theosophies lose heart and die.