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THE TEMPLE
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THE TEMPLE
What of Louvain and of Rheims
Made for God by man? What then?
Here be temples more than man's
Wrought by God for His own men.
Scattered in the rain and frost,
Marred of beauty, there they be,
Temples of the Holy Ghost,
Broken, ruined piteously.
Bodies all so finely wrought,
Cunning deftness shaped them well;
These, God's ultimate, loving thought
For His Spirit's citadel.
Beautiful from head to foot,
Young, dear darlings all unflawed
For their mother's kiss. What brute
Dares deface the image of God?
