| |
| I HAVE not dipped my hand in the stoup, | |
| Nor bent my knee towards the altar | |
| Far away at the end of the nave. | |
| The crucifix towers dimly above it. | |
| Is this my God? | 5 |
| |
| The Stations of the Cross | |
| Are white on the dull-brown brickwork. | |
| Poor naked cathedral! | |
| One pillar alone is clothed | |
| With green marble. | 10 |
| |
| O gloom of the aisles, | |
| And darkness made darker | |
| By the candles burning in corners | |
| Here and there | |
| In front of the images! | 15 |
| Why am I moved? | |
| Is this the house of my God? | |
| |
| The voices of the priests far-off | |
| Near the altar | |
| Have sound and no meaning as words; | 20 |
| But they fill the church with life | |
| And peace and resignation. | |
| The music of it enters my heart. | |
| |
| O God, you need me, I know, | |
| Or why am I here, why am I? | 25 |
| You will not cast me off, | |
| You cannot—O God, I say it | |
| With a humble and desperate heart. | |
| I am the least worthy atom of your Person, | |
| But of you, or nothing at all. | 30 |
| And this woman, | |
| Kneeling in her ragged clothes | |
| Before the saint with the ten lighted candles, | |
| Is happier than I: | |
| Her worn and battered face | 35 |
| Is shining with certainty. | |
| She is in heaven, and I— | |
| My heart is twisted with sobs, | |
| And my eyes are weeping. | |
| |
| And yet, as I leave the cathedral, | 40 |
| I do not dip my hand in the stoup. | |
| |
