THE type has never perished from the earth, But has come down these twenty centuries Through ancient lands, across the western seas, Wherever God's new races found a birth; To-day his shriveled soul, devoid of mirth, Eager to sell his Christ for paltry fees And plunge the world in sadder tragedies, Is seen still plotting for the silver's worth: But all too slowly does his judgment come, And all too often we accord him praise; So masterly he barters for the sum, We scarcely know Judas of ancient days, We heed the silver, not the odium And dark design of his Satanic ways. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SWAN AND THE GOOSE by AESOP COLUMBUS by EDWARD EVERETT HALE SUMMER MATURES by HELENE JOHNSON MESSIAH; A SACRED ECLOGUE IN IMITATION OF VIRGIL'S POLLIO by ALEXANDER POPE AT THE LATTICE by ALFRED AUSTIN EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 44. TEARS THE SYMPTOM LOVE by PHILIP AYRES THE PILGRIM by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |