Classic Poem

All who profess to bow before a throne
Whereof, ye must avow, man nothing knows,
Blame not as blind this worship here, but own
From a full-blown sacred sentiment it flows;
If reason's half 'gainst reasoning minds ye close,
And praise, half prostrate only, an Unknown,
The crowd, that all its trusting headlong throws
In blind devotion, is far stauncher shown.
Nor fondly deem that ye shall not be blamed,
Who, damning reason half, yet wield her knife
To prune where reason shrinks, as half ashamed,
Bleeding away for her faith's very life.
Bastard believers, blush before this sight;
Wear faith's whole fetters, or renounce her quite.