Above human grace,
Cathedral darkly glorious,
Melancholy in shadowed corners,
Joyous in pools of rainbow light,
Figures of hope there in the darkest
night.
Feeling there,
From the times when they spoke of
the last man,
And his empty chair,
Carved, hewn, and shaped,
Whole tells a story,
Continuous chain of history,
Product of chosen fate.
Within voices have sung,
Within harps have been strung,
Sounds of beauty rising mingled,
Intermixing and intertwining with
a lofty sound,
Saints there,
With feet on solid ground.
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