Glory to Them by Anderson M. Spear

Glory to them the toilers of the art

Who wrought with knotted hands in wood, glass, and stone

Dreams their unlettered minds could not give birth

And symmetries their should had never known. 

Glory to them the artisans, who spread

Cathedrals like brown lace before the sun

Who could not build a rhyme, but reared instead 

The Doric grander of the Parthenon,

I never cross a marble Portico

Or lift my eyes where stained glass windows steal

From Virgin sunlight moods of deeper glow

Or walk down peopled streets, except to feel

A hush of reverence for that vast dead, 

Who gave us beauty for a crust of bread.