These are the spires that were gleaming
All through my juvenile dreaming;
Here the high belfries are singing:
Gold invitations they're winging,
Asking man through the charmed portal,
Where he is once more immortal;
Where he may hide from his cares,
Under a shelter of prayers.
Why do these halls, high and broad,
Under the same constant God,
Vary in structure and style—
Differ, from chancel to aisle?
Why forms and creeds so diverse?
Why is my blessing your curse?
Pondering here on the street,
This is one reason I meet:

Man's brain is devious and strange—
Differs, in form and in range;
So that God's fervid love-sun,
Falling the same on each one,
Differs in form and in hue,
(Not the less precious or true)!
Body and brain and heart—
Temple of infinite art—
You had no power to control
Hues of your windows of soul!