The Temple
By J. D. C. Fellow
Between the erect and solemn trees
I will go down upon my knees;
I shall not find this day
So meet a place to pray.
Haply the beauty of this place
May work in me an answering grace,
The stillness of the air
Be echoed in my prayer.
The worshipping trees arise and run,
With never a swerve, towards the sun;
So may my soul's desire
Turn to its central fire.
With single aim they seek the light,
And scarce a twig in all their height
Breaks out until the head
In glory is outspread.
How strong each pillared trunk; the bark
That covers them, how smooth; and hark,
The sweet and gentle voice
With which the leaves rejoice!
May a like strength and sweetness fill
Desire, and thought, and steadfast will,
When I remember these
Fair sacramental trees!