The rusty key, the heavy rotten door,
The dead, unhappy air, the pillars green
With mould and damp, the desecrated floor
With bricks and boards where tombstones
should have been
And were once; all the musty, dreary chill—
They strike a shudder through my being still
When memory lights again that lightless scene.
And where the altar stood, and where the Christ
Reached out His arms to all the world, there stood