Classic Poem

And they who 'neath the vaulted roof had bow'd
Of some proud minster of the olden time,
Or where the vast cathedral towards the cloud
Rear'd its dark pile in symmetry sublime,
While through the storied pane the sunbeam play'd,
Tinting the pavement with a glorious shade,
Now breathed from humblest fane their ancient chime:
And learn'd they not, His presence sure might dwell
With every seeking soul, though bow'd in lowliest cell?