On A Spanish Cathedral Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCAA DDEEFFAA GGHHIIJJ AAKKAALL MNOPDDAA QROSTTBB UUAAAAVW DDXXOOYZ

DEEP under the spires of a hill by the feet of the thunder cloud trodA
I pause in a luminous still magnificent temple of GodA
At the steps of the altar august a vision of angels in stoneB
I kneel with my head to the dust on the floors by the seraphim knownB
No father in Jesus is near with the high the compassionate faceC
But the glory of Godhead is here its presence transfigures the placeC
Behold in this beautiful fane with the lights of blue heaven impearledA
I think of the Elders of Spain in the deserts the wilds of the worldA
-
I think of the wanderers poor who knelt on the flints and the sandsD
When the mighty and merciless Moor was lord of the Lady of LandsD
Where the African scimitar flamed with a swift bitter death in its kissE
The fathers unknown and unnamed found God in cathedrals like thisE
The glow of His Spirit the beam of His blessing made lords of the menF
Whose food was the herb of the stream whose roof was the dome of the denF
And far in the hills by the sea these awful hierophants prayedA
For Rome and its temples to be in a temple by Deity madeA
-
Who knows of their faith of its power Perhaps with the light in their eyesG
They saw in some wonderful hour the marvel of centuries riseG
Perhaps in some moment supreme when the mountains were holy and stillH
They dreamed the magnificent dream that came to the monks of SevilleH
Surrounded by pillars and spires whose summits shone out in the glareI
Of the high the omnipotent fires who knows what was seen by them thereI
Be sure if they saw in the noon of their faith some ineffable faneJ
They looked on the church like a moon dropped down by the Lord into SpainJ
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And the Elders who shone in the time when Christ over Christendom beamedA
May have dreamed at their altars sublime the dream that their fathers had dreamedA
By the glory of Italy moved the majesty shining in RomeK
They turned to the land that they loved and prayed for a church in their homeK
And a soul of unspeakable fire descended on them and they foughtA
And laboured a life for the spire and tower and dome of their thoughtA
These grew under blessing and praise as morning in summertime growsL
As Troy in the dawn of the days to the music of Delphicus roseL
-
In a land of bewildering light where the feet of the season are Spring sM
They worked in the day and the night surrounded by beautiful thingsN
The wonderful blossoms in stone the flower and leaf of the MoorO
On column and cupola shone and gleamed on the glimmering floorP
In a splendour of colour and form from the marvellous African s handsD
Yet vivid and shining and warm they planted the Flower of the LandsD
Inspired by the patience supreme of the mute the magnificent pastA
They toiled till the dome of their dream in the firmament blossomed at lastA
-
Just think of these men of their time of the days of their deed and the sceneQ
How touching their zeal how sublime their suppression of self must have beenR
In a city yet hacked by the sword and scarred by the flame of the MoorO
They started the work of their Lord sad silent and solemnly poorS
These fathers how little they thought of themselves and how much of the daysT
When the children of men would be brought to pray in their temple and praiseT
Ah full of the radiant still heroic old life that has flownB
The merciful monks of Seville toiled on and died bare and unknownB
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The music the colour the gleam of their mighty cathedral will beU
Hereafter a luminous dream of the heaven I never may seeU
To a spirit that suffers and seeks for the calm of a competent creedA
This temple whose majesty speaks becomes a religion indeedA
The passionate lights the intense the ineffable beauty of soundA
Go straight to the heart through the sense as a song would of seraphim crownedA
And lo by these altars august the life that is highest we liveV
And are filled with the infinite trust and the peace that the world cannot giveW
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They have passed have the elders of time they have gone but the work of their handsD
Pre eminent peerless sublime like a type of eternity standsD
They are mute are the fathers who made this church in the century dimX
But the dome with their beauty arrayed remains a perpetual hymnX
Their names are unknown but so long as the humble in spirit and pureO
Are worshipped in speech and in song our love for these monks will endureO
And the lesson by sacrifice taught will live in the light of the yearsY
With a reverence not to be bought and a tenderness deeper than tearsZ

Henry Kendall



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