STATUE OF VENUS, A.D. 500.

The fickle throngs of Rome no more adore
My haughty grace in these degenerate days.
But guard their genuflections and their praise
For one who preached upon a distant shore.

This Christus, whom they worship evermore,
Could cure all ills, they say, and He could raise
The buried dead themselves in wondrous ways,
And lull the sullen tempest's fiercest roar.

All this may be, but there will come a time
When He, the Master who was crucified,
Will be abjured by all and worshiped never;
While I, in my mute majesty sublime,
Will still tower o'er them in my marble pride,
And be adored forever and forever!