Worship

The secret cloister of my heart

Conceals an altar, built to you,

That time can never tear apart,

Nor sorrow rape of lambent hue.

Love is the substance—the design

Is patterned simply, as is well

To fit the beauty of a shrine

No eyes may see, no tongue may tell.

Fidelity and courage flame

In candles set on either side,

And inner voices chant your name

As benediction glorified.

Each day I kneel and offer you

My thoughts and words, my every deed,

And pray—though they be small and few—

They may fulfill some ancient need!

Susan Maitland