Inside it's quietly, soberly cool,
Stone walls echo the reverent feet
Of the cyclical, sinning human tide,
Flowing to pray and praise, to confide,
In curtained chambers under glass bouquets,
Radiant where the sun's fierce rays,
Bending low, cannot violate the dusk.
Some faithful strip away the husk
From hearts where frailty and privacy reside,
And search for the fruits of grace inside.
The lonely harmony is best,
After the sinners have confessed,
Done penance, boxed murmers gone silent in the night,
And the crossed spire directs its height
At the great unseen Heart accepting the prayers,
And we sense He listens, knows and cares.