Lest, soaring, they lose sight of lesser shrine
Lest, heart so kindling with the Spirit’s fire,
Feet lowly tread that eyes be lifted higher.
V.
Slow turning through the glimmering aisles to range,
Amid the hum the loitering footsteps wrought
I lost the questioning face, but not the thought
Of that dim life, to which the night seemed strange
Of Calvary’s God, to whom all life is owed—
That clouded life wherein Faith’s pure sunshine