Classic Poem

Lo! as a pure white statue wrought with care
By some strong hand that moulds with tear and sigh
Beauty more beautiful than things that die,
And straight 'tis veiled; and whilst all men repair
To see this wonder in the workshop, there!
Behold, it gleams unveiled to curious eye,
Far-seen, high-placed in Art's pale gallery,
Where all stand mute before a work so fair:
So he, our man of men, in vision stands,
With Pain and Patience crowned imperial;
Death's veil has dropped; far from this house of woe
He hears one love-chant out of many lands,
Whilst from his mystic morn-height he lets fall
His shadow o'er these hearts that bleed below.