The South Transept: The Epistle and Gospel IV

Not so the path the holy Church doth tread,
The Year, that walketh in her light unseen,
Around its steps awakens from the dead
Hopes that shall never die. Through the serene
Of the calm Sunday like an alley green,
Are seen th' eternal towers ; and where lights gild
Death's twilight portal, us and them between,
She shews her suffering Lord ; throughout the wild,
Still shews her suffering Lord to her faint wandering child.