The iconoclast.
45
He looks, and lo! our altars fall,
The shrine reveals its gilded clay,
With decent hands we spread the pall,
And, cold with wisdom, glide away.
The shrine reveals its gilded clay,
With decent hands we spread the pall,
And, cold with wisdom, glide away.
Oh! where were courage, faith, and truth,
If man went wandering all his day
In golden clouds of love and youth,
Nor knew that both his steps betray?
If man went wandering all his day
In golden clouds of love and youth,
Nor knew that both his steps betray?
Come, Time, while here we sit and wait,
Be faithful, spoiler, to thy trust!
No death can further desolate
The soul that knows its god was dust.
Be faithful, spoiler, to thy trust!
No death can further desolate
The soul that knows its god was dust.
