York Minister

YORK Minster! what a monument is this

  Out of one meek and simple life uprist!

Within these walls what sceptic but needs kiss

        Thy garment’s hem, O Christ!

For not on fable, but immortal fact,

  Could anything so real be upreared,—

Thy every thought enshrined, thy every act

        Re-acted and endeared.

It were enough to glorify thy name,

  This one great monument, this single one;

But only think how many such proclaim

        God’s best-beloved Son!

The domed cities, and the steepled towns,

  The village spires that gleam at morn and even,

The belfry on the bleak unpeopled downs,

        Lone hearts, to worship given.

Lord Christ! methinks they challenge and reprove

  The warrior’s pillar and the sage’s shrine,

And bid thy weaker brothers look above

        To something more divine.