The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed <br />That nearer heaven the living ones may climb; <br />The false must fail, though from our shores of time <br />The old lament be heard, 'Great Pan is dead!' <br />That wail is Error's, from his high place hurled; <br />This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod; <br />Our time's unrest, an angel sent of God <br />Troubling with life the waters of the world. <br />Even as they list the winds of the Spirit blow <br />To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; <br />Sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains <br />Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come and go, <br />And storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and wind, <br />Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind. <br /> <br />Therefore I trust, although to outward sense <br />Both true and false seem shaken; I will hold <br />With newer light my reverence for the old, <br />And calmly wait the births of Providence. <br />No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look down <br />Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds; <br />Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds <br />Counting in task-field and o'erpeopled town; <br />Truth has charmed life; the Inward Word survives, <br />And, day by day, its revelation brings; <br />Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things <br />Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy lives <br />Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told, <br />And the new gospel verifies the old.<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/adjustment/
