Classic Poem

If early days whose light was shed
On glitt'ring throngs of forms now dead,
Could bring again in lofty state
Their gather'd trains of fair and great;
If Corfe's now prostrate walls could rise
With queenly bands before our eyes,
Or Knute be seen begirt once more
By thanes on airy Paladour;
What day, O Dorset, or what place
Could bring thee back more forms of grace
Or hearts of worth, than those that thou
Hast gather'd on thy bosom now!

Those waters, catching, as they lie,
The fairest hues of cloud and sky,
Or ruffled into waves that chase
Each other o'er their crystal face
May soon lie dull, in icy death,
To welkin's hues and zephyr's breath.
But never, while its years shall roll,
May changing time find woman's soul
Dead to the warmth of Christian love
That now she catches from above,
Or to the blameless joys that play
So sweetly in her heart to-day.

For this bright day what hands have wrought!
Of this bright day what hearts have thought!
And when its work of love may save
A dying parent from the grave,
How many grateful tongues may raise
Their warm thanksgiving to its praise!
Such works are treasures we conceal
" Where thieves do not break through and steal."
The gifts the faithful shall bestow
Upon the poor the Lord will owe,
And he will pay the giver double
And save him in the time of trouble.