Poems (Sharpless)/A Cathedral Sermon

by Frances M. Sharpless

A CATHEDRAL SERMON

A finger pointing from earth away
Rises the minster tower gray,
 In tracery like granite lace;
Within, rich glowing tints illume
The vaulted arches' solemn gloom,
 And soften majesty with grace.

This glorious master-piece of art
Sprang from a passion of the heart,
 To give to God its very best:
And so the men of ages gone
Carved out this "symphony in stone,"
 Then laid them down to rest.

Such would I make my life, I thought:
A splendid temple, deftly wrought,
 By years of sacrifice and pain:
Where noble deeds like gems should shine,
And genius with a light divine,
 Redeem the common-place and plain.

So, while I mourned my placid days
Where no heroic deed may blaze,
 No martyr's crown be hardly won;
But where as on some temperate isle,
A thousand gentle pleasures smile,
 And joy and duty are but one,

Came from the sunny market-place,
A woman with a quiet face,
 Tho' deeply seamed by toil and years;
And bowed before the radiant shrine,
Where smiles the Motherhood Divine,
 She poured her prayers, her tears.

Then rising with a brightening look,
A few poor, humble weeds she took
 To lay upon that shrine of art;
A few poor leaves of humble birth,
Plucked from the common wayside earth,
 She brought, with grateful heart.

Oh! thou aspiring soul of mine,
Haste thou to offer at God's shrine
 The very best thou hast, though small;
The little cares that test thy love,
The petty conquests thou dost prove,
 Hasten to bring Him all.

There is no great or less to Him,
Who dwelleth 'mid the cherubim,
 Yet marks the tiny moth that flies;
His is all earth, and His all Heaven,
His all thy gifts; at last when given,
 It is the Love that sanctifies.