PALM SUNDAY.
Claiming the hill-crowned city as its own,
The gray cathedral rears its rough-hewn front
Like ancient fortress built to bear the brunt
Of leaguering ram on e’er unyielding stone;
Signing with holy cross the land it claims,
Its walls protecting seek the infinite blue
Grown, softly falling painted window through,
High heaven brought down to shape life’s noblest aims.
In this strong fortress, safe from those salt waves