Behold the Court of Penance. Four gaunt walls Shutting out all things but the upper heaven. Stone flags for floor, where daily from their stalls The human cattle in a circle driven Tread down their pathway to a mire uneven, Pale--faced, sad--eyed, and mute as funerals. Woe to the wretch whose weakness unforgiven Falters a moment in the track or falls! Yet is there consolation. Overhead The pigeons build and the loud jackdaws talk, And once in the wind`s eye, like a ship moored, A sea--gull flew and I was comforted. Even here the heavens declare thy glory, Lord, And the free firmament thy handiwork.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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