Around, above, from nave to roof,
He gazed, and said, in sad reproof,—
"Alas! who is it understands
God's temple is not made with hands?"
—We walked along a shaded way,
Beneath the apple-blooms of May,
And came upon a church whose dome
Bore still the cross, but not for Rome.
We brushed a cobweb from a pane,
And gazed within the sacred fane
"Do prayers," he asked, "the more avail,
If murmured nigh an altar-rail?
"Does water sprinkled from a bowl
Wash any sin from any soul?
"Do tongues that taste the bread and wine
Speak truer after, by that sign?
"The very priest, in gown and bands,
Hath lying lips and guilty hands!"
"He speaks no error," answered I;
"He says the living all shall die,