Classic Poem

They envied not the vast Cathedral's pile,
Its high-hung roof filled with the organ's sound,
Its pictured windows, and the long-drawn aisle,
With dim religious light o'er all around;
Its ceremonial forms seemed stiff and cold,
No more the vesture of Immortal Truth;
But rather like her cast off garments old,
Which once she wore in infancy and youth.
In manhood's form to them did she appear,
From childish rites and childish errors free,
In virtue and in discipline severe,
And beckoned them across an unknown sea;
In a new world, with worship free and pure,
To found a Church which ever should endure.