The Human Temple: The Temple in Darkness

Darkness broods upon the temple,
Glooms along the lonely aisles,
Fills up all the orient window,
Whence, like little children's wiles,
Shadows — purple, azure, golden —
Broke upon the floor in smiles.

From the great heart of the organ
Bursts no voice of chant or psalm;
All the air, by music-pulses
Stirred no more, is deathly calm;
And no precious incense rising,
Falls, like good men's prayer, in balm.

Not a sound of living footstep
Echoes on the marble floor;
Not a sigh of stranger passing
Pierces through the closed door;
Quenched the light upon the altar:
Where the priest stood, none stands more.

Lord, why hast Thou left Thy temple
Scorned of man, disowned by Thee?
Rather let Thy right hand crush it,
None its desolation see!
List — 'He who the temple builded
Doth His will there. Let it be!'