CVI

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CVI

Progress of Unbelief

Now is the Autumn of the Tree of Life;

Its leaves are shed upon the unthankful earth,

Which lets them whirl, a prey to the winds’ strife,

Heartless to store them for the months of dearth.

Men close the door, and dress the cheerful hearth,

Self-trusting still; and in his comely gear

Of precept and of rite, a household Baal rear.

But I will out amid the sleet, and view

Each shrivelling stalk and silent-falling leaf.

Truth after truth, of choicest scent and hue,

Fades, and in fading stirs the Angels’ grief,

Unanswer’d here; for she, once pattern chief

Of faith, my Country, now gross hearted grown,

Waits but to burn the stem before her idol’s throne.