Mark you the floor? that square and speckled stone, Which looks so firm and strong,
And th’ other black and grave, wherewith each one Is checker’d all along,
The gentle rising, which on either hand Leads to the Choir above,
But the sweet cement, which in one sure band Ties the whole frame, is Love
Hither sometimes Sin steals, and stains The marble’s neat and curious veins:
But all is cleansed when the marble weeps. Sometimes Death, puffing at the door, Blows all the dust about the floor:
But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps. Blest be the Architect, whose art
Could build so strong in a weak heart.