Such beauty as an old cathedral wears,
Offering to clouds its gracious dignity,
Fashioned of brown and blood and women’s prayers,
Built to endure through an eternity.
At vesper time around these altars dim
Wayfaring pilgrims kneel in glad release.
Tapers are lighted while some ancient hymn
Throbs out its age-old ministry of peace.

So may a life its own cathedral mold,
Out of the past some sanctuary find,
Erect some altar where its prayers are told,
Guide other travelers to a faith enshrined.
Kneeling in twilight’s benediction ray,
Courage is found for yet another day.

The second in a series of my great-grandmother’s poems. 


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