Margaret G. Perkins
I come to the Cathedral.
Softly cross the mossy carpet fresh and green,
And seated upon a stump, an oaken pew,
I feel the gentle touch of hand unseen
Upon my hand.
Columns of spreading pine form windows tall,
Where streaming golden sunlight warm and bright,
Casts long and slender shadows on the wall.
Feathered songsters decked in colors rare,