Classic Poem

The ancient stars their sentry keep,
The winds of God still blow;
The ocean smites its rocky steep,
The hills sublime are mantled deep
In everlasting snow.

But time has turned man's towers to dust;
His hosts with iron shod
And all the temples of his trust
Have vanished with their pride and lust
Before the breath of God.

Of man's achievement every trace
Soon mingles with the dust;
This only time cannot efface:
The high communion of the race,
Their love and toil, and trust.