THE GREAT EAST WINDOW

YORK MINSTER

Tread softly now!

The singers all are gone; the people are gone.

The minster, a great bell unrung,

Darkens in muted splendour, dusk

Giving viaticum to one more day

Of the praying centuries. The choir’s

A failing memory of boy’s voices

Soaring from a stone forest like lark song.

The kneeling shadows rise and Silence cries

Hallelujah, leaving unto Light

The final benediction, for there

The Great East Window mysteried in amethyst,

Sapphire, topaz, strangely self luminous,

In what unworldly glory of apocalypse

For a brief moment or two discloses,

Surely, the New Jerusalem

Descending as a bride.

Tread softly now!

Treasure the rare vision! You have surprised

That secret loveliness which sleeps

In all things made with prayer.