Within the beauteous walls again too strait
For the wistful flocks who mourn their shepherd gone,--
Since here all creeds one shining garment don,
One seamless robe,--our heavy spirits wait
On the old Hebraic anthem pa**ionate
And fall of hallowed words that bear upon
Their cadences strange consolation won
From centuries of faith reverberate.
But oh, the empty pulpit eloquent
Of d**h, the sable pulpit over all!
Yet even here is soul with flesh at strife;
For wise and tender was the hand that lent
A glowing wreath to that funereal pall,--
Against the gloom the exultant flush of life.