 | The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott
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XX.
Not that there is no greatness in the fane
That homes the spirit of man's deepest dread;
Chapel, Morai, Cathedral! Not in vain
The temple built with hands its roof hath spread
Beneath th' unpillar'd blue, wherever rain
Falls, or fire burns. For if the sleepless main
Clasps not an isle man-peopled to his breast;
But there some tokens of Hope's doubt attest
The deathless sov'reignty of Death and Pain,
Great is the least! as will the greatest be,
When moss shall creep o'er London's homeless walls,
And, taught by nation-humbling funerals,
The Pilgrim of the Future there shall see
Dead Worship's Skeleton! and pausing sigh, “Saint Paul's!”
| The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott
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