Through these the town of Rubens shall arise,
Its stone arms clasping the cathedral, where
His dead Christ sends a worship through the air,
And takes the daily light from out the eyes
Of those that look in awe; for there they see
Divinity as death, and woman's hands
Clasping his feet as tender as can be;
While all behind the gazer as he stands,
Devotion bends the knee in that rich light
Which flings a noonday twilight all around,
That trembles as the organ lifts again
To fretted roof that narrows to the sight,
Its unseen wailing hands of holy sound
In moaning benedictions over men.