The carvèd stalls; the altar’s drapery;
The stainèd glass; the candlesticks of gold;
The dim far roof; the good priest purple-stoled;
My lady’s throat—all these are fair to see,
And where these sounds are I am glad to be.

The simple prayers; Christ’s loving kindness told;
The last note that the organ fain would hold;
A little child’s hymn rising plaintively—
…Yet I remember…it was long ago…
In sermon-time—(I think he spake of hell—
I do not know—I was not listening)
—The great west door was open wide, and lo!
I saw the grasses where the sunlight fell,
And heard a throated robin worshipping.