When I Behold Some Temple of the Past
When I behold some temple of the Past,
Its marble pillars tottering to their fall,
Its statues shattered and its fanes o'er-cast
Its friezes shredded on the crumbling wall, --
I can but mourn, I cannot stop my tears
To think that beauty so sublime must die,
And all the woes of all the grief-filled years
Drive down upon me like a crowd-wracked
sky!
Ah! who is he whom ruin will not touch?
Who hath not tried betimes to build some
place
Fit for the glory of his God -- Ah, such
That he might behold him ... face
to face!
Be still my soul! What visioned Realm expands!
Oh! "Many mansions"! Oh, "not made with
hands"!
James B. Dollard
Born in Kilkenny, Ireland, in 1872. Came to Canada in 1890 and was ordained priest in 1896. Has been, and is still [as of 1930], engaged in priestly administration in various parishes of the Archdiocese of Toronto. Has published four volumes of poetry and one of short stories. Note examples of rare alliteration.
