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I read this night
By lurid lights Saint Chrysostom, thy words:
‘Not Heaven itself is stable as God's Church:
She was not made for Heaven but Heaven for her:
God said: “The heavens and earth shall pass away;”
But of the Church He said, “Upon this Rock
I build My Church. The gates of Hell shall never
Prevail against it.” Think ye, sons of men,
Its walls are walls of stone? I tell you nay:
Its walls are multitudinous walls of Souls;
Its pillars Spirit-Pillars based on Faith.’
I read: a Hand from Heaven was on my head:
It stayed me where I stood.