I passed without, what time the organ pealed
The last high rapture of a stately hymn,
And lingering where upon the twilight dim
The storied windows, rich with warmth, revealed
A pitying Christ ’mid humble shapes that kneeled,
Heard the punctilious Priest intone a grim
Creed-curse of some dead, earthly sanhedrim,
As if it opened all that God has sealed.
Not mine that perfect faith which strangely soothes
The world’s disquiet where it enters in,
And yet I bear, through every night of doubt,
A heart of hope made glad by simple truths:
No door, O Priest! shuts all God’s light within,
His stars are with me in the dark without.