Classic Poem

Where most are muddy, she is clear;
So, like a naturalist, will I ever study
The bright, still depths that are my very Dear.

Where most are faltering, she is strong;
So Love, our pilot, keeps his course unaltering,
Nor fears the sudden hurricane of wrong.

Where most are blind, she sees afar;
So need I never circumscribe my mind,
Nor speak of ports to one who knows her star.

Where most are dying, there she ever lives.
Thus always on her self my heart relying,
I give to her the gift she always gives.