Classic Poem

O tender guide, how thy endeavor doth improve!
The lowliest kind, from his blinded course,
Told the tale that influence searched,
Dressed spirits' mien through conventional resource,
Built reverence to have its facile worth,
Cultivated raw and barren lands
That strife did woo from earnest hands,
Chained the brute from curse and pain
Who deemed in thanks a life-long gain.
Make known its proud and lustful stride!—
That ruin would ere long betide,
O light that of heavenly staring beam
Hath borne dreams with thee to be unfancied.
Such clearness—e'en night pends such teem.