What is Religion?—Word of many creeds
Blared forth in streets by solemn Pharisee,
And piped in doleful tones on scrannel reeds,
Untouched by love or tender sympathy
That moves the soldier where the Master bleeds?
What is Religion?—Lofty minster-spires
And rich mosaics on the chancel wall;
Deep organ-tones, and silver-throated choirs
Whose golden Glorias night and morning fall,
With sanctus-bell and flares of altar-fires?
What is Religion? Note of bird on bough;
The sunlight falling o'er the waving grass;
A child's clear gaze and unashamed brow;
The little deeds that, living, come and pass
And are forgot: Religion is, I trow.
What is Religion? Why, who anywhere
Stoops down to touch the dusty wayside-flower,
And then as tenderly the face of care;
Who thus in love lives on from hour to hour
Has caught the secret, and has mastered prayer.