Henry Alford

Sonnet LXV. Antwep Cathedral.

Be it not mine in these high aisles to tread Lightly, with scornful or with pitying gaze, Viewing these worshippers, who on the days When English fanes are silent as the dead, Throng kneeling, where yon feeble candles shed Their flickering light: for rather would I raise My hands in prayer with them, or join in praise, Or sit beneath their shrines in humble dread. Because our being's end is furthered best Not by the pride of reason, most unjust When it condemneth,--but by self--distrust, By mildness, and submission, and arrest Of sudden judgment: thus we learn to feel That all are one, and have one wound to heal.