Classic Poem

I stood before an ancient Church,
A solemn-browed star-pointing pile.
The carved and quaintly-sculptured porch
Was open; I paced through the aisle,
With breath withheld and noiseless tread;
Like one who feels, in reverent mood,
That life should silently intrude
Within the precincts of the dead.
I looked around; each mouldering tomb,
In livid light amid the gloom
Paled forth, the roof and pillars high
Wrought with antique imagery;
Figures strange that had no birth
Upon our familiar earth
Shapes distorted, vague, as we
In the realm of Cloudland see,
Ere dislimbed each giant form
Rides upon the gathering storm.
Graven on the grey walls were
Scrolls in unknown character;
Records only to be read
By those in Christ who slumbered.