 | From Sunset Ridge |  |
85
THE CHURCH
I heard one say in sunny travel,
A braggart Frenchman, rude and vain,
He and his mates would mine St. Peter's,
And blast it with a powder-train.
A braggart Frenchman, rude and vain,
He and his mates would mine St. Peter's,
And blast it with a powder-train.
I saw in thought the mighty ruin,
The wealth of Art and Record gone;
The unfading pictures wrenched and shattered;
The arches, music-knit, o'erthrown.
The wealth of Art and Record gone;
The unfading pictures wrenched and shattered;
The arches, music-knit, o'erthrown.
I thought how piteous Contadini
Would miss that genial mother-hearth;
How, from the falling water-vases,
The marble doves would flutter forth.
Would miss that genial mother-hearth;
How, from the falling water-vases,
The marble doves would flutter forth.
Then, from the ghastly vision turning,
Mine eye the silly Celt did reach:
I said, and every heart responded,
“Now, never more with me hold speech.”
Mine eye the silly Celt did reach:
I said, and every heart responded,
“Now, never more with me hold speech.”
So thou, whose ill-conditioned learning
Would shake the aisles where Faith abides;
Where, from the vulgar world out-driven,
Devotion, crowned of ages, hides,—
Would shake the aisles where Faith abides;
86
Devotion, crowned of ages, hides,—
Wield cautiously the crushing mallet:
Not Peter's door alone you break;
But, of the temple of our sires,
A weltering heap of dust you make.
Not Peter's door alone you break;
But, of the temple of our sires,
A weltering heap of dust you make.
These aisles were built with holy living,
These stones were piled with thought and prayer:
The world before us gave the pattern,
The world that follows is the heir;
These stones were piled with thought and prayer:
The world before us gave the pattern,
The world that follows is the heir;
And hearts are set, like gems incrusted,
In the fair walls; and, ruby-red,
The blood of martyrdom doth stain them,
And tears more terrible to shed.
In the fair walls; and, ruby-red,
The blood of martyrdom doth stain them,
And tears more terrible to shed.
So, build thy dome in airy heaven
A shelter for new hope and joy,
And write thereon the Master-sentence,
“Come to deliver, not destroy.”
A shelter for new hope and joy,
And write thereon the Master-sentence,
“Come to deliver, not destroy.”
| From Sunset Ridge | |