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Poem by Jones Very


Worship


There is no worship now,the idol stands
Within the spirit's holy resting place!
Millions before it bend with upraised hands,
And with their gifts God's purer shrine disgrace;
The prophet walks unhonored mid the crowd
That to the idol's temple daily throng;
His voice unheard above their voices loud,
His strength too feeble 'gainst the torrent strong;
But there are bounds that ocean's rage can stay
When wave on wave leaps madly to the shore:
And soon-the prophet's word shall men obey,
And hushed to peace the billows cease to roar;
For he who spokeand warring winds kept peace,
Commands againand man's wild passions cease.



Jones Very


Jones Very's other poems:
  1. The New Birth
  2. The Fair Morning
  3. The Grave Yard
  4. To the Fossil Flower
  5. The Clouded Morning


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