Classic Poem

Let theologians wrangle at their will,
I turn from stained-glass windows to the sky,
And listen to the sermon of a star,
An eloquence divines might profit by.

Though Scriptural text be myth or golden truth,
Where there is beauty, there is holiness;
And so I find in psalm and parable,
Splendor ecstatic as the spring's caress.

My shrine shall be the green pine-spired hills,
My hymns, the happy songs of creedless birds;
Whose altar-flame is freedom worships well,
He dwells beyond the need of tinseled words!