The Chapter-house: Episcopacy VII

So not alone Christ's mission-crown on high
Shall gird your brows with radiance, but the urn
Of Heaven's own light in your true bosoms burn ;
For the great God Who fills eternity
Makes lowliest hearts His temple ; such we see,
When to Faith's earliest morn our eyes we turn,
And round th' all-conquering Cross of shame discern,
Kneeling in light, a suffering Hierarchy ;
Thence, high and wide, 'mid Persecution's night,
The East and West are with their glory bright ;
As on some festal eve in glorious Rome,
Far through the pillar'd shades of Peter's dome,
A thousand glowing lamps fling light on high,
Making their own calm day, their own pure sky
Around the holiest altar cross, whence springs
The mystic dove, shaking her golden wings.