Classic Poem

A NEW “SONNET DEDICATED TO LIBERTY.”

P ALEY , thou shouldst be buried at this hour;
 Thou hast been longtime dead, yet still the blight
 Of thy chill touch lies on the Infinite,
With'ring it up t' the size and shape of our
Vain finite minds. Oh that we had the power
 To bury thee deep in oblivion's sure
 Unechoing vault! that Faith, fair, free and pure.

Might grow, undwarfed by memory of thy sour
 And soul-less wranglings at the tomb of Christ;
  Thy calm dissection of the living hearts
 Of martyr, prophet, and evangelist,
  Thy worldly wisdom, which with curious arts
   Of biassed logic has so perfectly
   Embalmed a murdered Christianity.