Holy Trinity, Sloane Street

MCMVII

An Acolyte singeth

Light six white tapers with the Flame of Art,

Send incense wreathing to the lily flowers,

And, with your cool hands white,

Swing the warm censer round my bruised heart,

Drop, dove-grey eyes, your penitential showers

On this pale acolyte.

A cofirmandus continueth

The tall red house soars upward to the stars,

The doors are chased with sardonyx and gold,

And in the long white room

Thin drapery draws backward to unfold

Cadogan Square between the window-bars

And Whistler’s mother knitting in the gloom.

The Priest endeth

How many hearts turn Motherward to-day?

(Red roses faint not on your twining stems!)

Bronze triptych doors unswing!

Wait, restive heart, wait, rounded lips, to pray,

Mid beaten copper interset with gems

Behold! Behold! your King!