| |
| MONASTIC and time-consecrated fane! | |
| Thou hast put on thy shapely state again, | |
| Almost august as in thy early day, | |
| Ere ruthless Henry rent thy pomp away. | |
| No more the mass on holidays is sung, | 5 |
| The Host high raised or fuming censer swung; | |
| No more, in amice white, the Fathers slow | |
| With lighted tapers in long order go; | |
| Yet the tall window lifts its archéd height, | |
| As to admit heaven’s pale but purer light; | 10 |
| Those massy clustered columns, whose long rows, | |
| Even at noonday, in shadowy pomp repose | |
| Amid the silent sanctity of death, | |
| Like giants seem to guard the dust beneath. | |
| Those roofs re-echo (though no altars blaze) | 15 |
| The prayer of penitence, the hymn of praise; | |
| Whilst meek religion’s self, as with a smile, | |
| Reprints the tracery of the holy pile, | |
| Worthy its guest, the temple. What remains? | |
| O mightiest Master! thy immortal strains | 20 |
| These roofs demand; listen! with prelude slow, | |
| Solemnly sweet, yet full, the organs blow. | |
| And hark! again, heard ye the choral chant | |
| Peal through the echoing arches, jubilant? | |
| More softly now, imploring litanies, | 25 |
| Wafted to heaven, and mingling with the sighs | |
| Of penitence, from yonder altar rise; | |
| Again the vaulted roof “Hosannahs” rings,— | |
| “Hosannah! Lord of lords, and King of kings”! | |
| Rent, but not prostrate; stricken, yet sublime; | 30 |
| Reckless alike of injuries or time; | |
| Thou, unsubdued in silent majesty, | |
| The tempest hast defied, and shalt defy! | |
| The temple of our Sion so shall mock | |
| The muttering storm, the very earthquake’s shock, | 35 |
| Founded, O Christ, on thy eternal rock! | |
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