Classic Poem

I SAW it once where myriad works adorn
Encloistered walls as with a Cloth of Gold;
Then did I see, still fair in every fold,
Still jewel-strewn, the robe a king had worn.
I glimpsed a god, of antique glory born;
A boasted picture, and a carven gem, —
Soul-sick, the while, to view, unvexed of them,
That simple Christus with its crown of thorn!
The World is old; she hath seen many wars;
And states and kingdoms crowd her courts like grass;
Princes in pride she watches where they pass
Unnumbered and innumerable as the stars;
Then turns, a child with tired feet homeward set,
Back to the Cross, and lo! her lids are wet.