The Building the Church (a version by Francis Boylan)

(AT THE EPISTLE FOR ALL SAINTS' DAY)

The old Church is a building made of scars
The being of a wound, and then she turned to stone,
And now the dead house flashes each dead stone,
Dear veries of faith to preen our fruitless bone-
Yet somehow she has the air of stepping stars.

In room after room her brilliance dies devoured
While a light from the east side forms and grows
...