I THINK God loves new churches built to Him, And watches as each stone is laid on stone, And smiles to see them laid so straight and true, Lifting the strong wide walls to heaven's blue. And when the carpenters have done with them And each new church stands finished and alone, When dusk sifts violet shadows through the glass Of painted windows, I think that God must pass Between the new dim aisles and stopping where The last light falls across His shining hair He kneels and holds the first communion there. |