Arthur Sherburne Hardy

By a Grave

  Oft have I stood within the carven door
      Of some cathedral at the close of the day,
      And seen its softened splendors fade away
      From lucent pane and tessellated floor,
  As if a parting guest who comes no more,--
      Till over all silence and blackness lay,
      Then rose sweet murmurings of them that pray,
      And shone the altar lamps unseen before,
  So, Dear, as here I stand with thee alone,
      The voices of the world sound faint and far,
      The glare and glory of the moon grow dim,
  And in the stillness, what I had not known,
      I know,--a light, pure shining as a star,
      A song, uprising like a holy hymn.