This temple is soul-startling. 'Tis to me

A thunder storm in stone, with Sinai flare

Across the Ages. 'Tis the Fiend's despair

And the Arch-angel's Triumph. It sets free

The mind and soul with certitude, Christ's key

Which, like the Sun, opes Heaven—the Good and Fair.

Still, oft, what darkness drowns the sun's noon glare

Within the Temple! 'Tis from Calvary.

Oh, 'tis from Calvary's grief. 'Tis Christ's emotion,

On from the Cross, that from His glory known,

The German should have fled and, frantic, thrown

Away his soul to Strauss or Kant's vague notion,

Unhumaning, till, in the Kaiser, grown

A Neitche whirl-wind in a crimson ocean.