Classic Poem

Not in the caverned aisles of cloistered gloom,
Or chancelled splendors built in carven stone,
Where censer smoke goes up and choirs intone
Those sad dread litanies of human doom,
That lend an added horror to the tomb;
Nor where the modern dervish maketh moan,
And smites his forehead with impenitent groan,
Doth faith's rare flower of reverence wake and bloom:

But out in hallowed halls of dawn or night,
Where overhead the censer stars outswing,
Eternity and night in one vast ring,
Or hid impulses of inmoving light;
Behind him all the mystery of his race,
Doth man with Deity come close face to face.