What I saw in Strahov

There was a priest not much older age than I
whose beauteous purity caught my wandering eye.
Within the chapel of gilded gold and brown
I saw him sitting there, hands clasped, lips turned down.
His gaze affixed the cross which on high did sit
Mary on her lap with Jesu, her holy infant.
He had no care but them, his worldly ways deceased
only the sin within his mortal coil this man cared release.
That boyish look about his lips, that sincerity of heart,
oh he was like a piece of living chapel art!
My body could never be the holy bread and wine
the kadosh, kadosh, kadosh drawing his mouth to mine.
That priest bedecked in white an ecstatic joy did know
more than I ever did when held by men below.

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