Classic Poem

I KNOW a pathway through the pines
Where, when the sun declines,
The shadows take on dreamy hues,
Deep violets and blues.

And there is incense that beguiles
Borne down the pillared aisles
From unseen censers, fragrant rites
Of hidden acolytes.

And there is music full and fair
Upon the dusking air,
As though there were an organ grand
Played by a master hand.

This my cathedral is. I crave
No other architrave
Than this majestic vaulted span
Shaped by no skill of man.

Here are my holy altars; here,
Prayerful I may revere,
Feeling about me flutterings
As of angelic wings.

For well I know God walks the wood
Clad in beatitude;
In light and shade and sound I sense
His loving imminence.

And when I go I take with me
Peace, hope, humility;
And when I pass I leave behind
Doubt, and the darkened mind.