Classic Poem

Before the birth-song of the Galilean
Thrilled through the spheres afar,
Long ere the echo of that sweet peace paean
Was borne from star to star,

Men sought from prophets, priests, and statues graven,
To gain some gleam of light
That should illume the future's pathway, paven
With shadows dark as night.

Deep in the heart of Libyan deserts arid
Was Ammon's altar reared,
And long and patiently the pilgrims tarried
To list the voice they feared.

The laureled Pythian priestess of Apollo,
From hills that Delphi crown,
Inspired by breathings from her cave's black hollow,
Sent her weird visions down.

Dodonian oaks, through which low tongues seemed crying
To every wandering breeze,
Drew, by their power of wondrous prophesying,
Strange folk far over seas.

Happy were they who dreamed of no deceiving,
Whate'er the worshiped shrine,
Who lived undoubting lives out, still believing
In tokens sibylline!

Shall we, who bow before the one eternal
And gracious Godhead, hold
In scorn what they deemed sacred in those vernal
Sweet Grecian days of old?

Nay, nay, for while its lustrous light outflinging
Clear gleams the morning star,
The vocal trees, the free birds' rapturous singing,
Will be oracular!