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Poem by Robert William Service
In idle dream with pipe in hand I looked across the Square, And saw the little chapel stand In eloquent despair. A ruin of the War it was, A dreary, dingy mess: It worried me a lot because My hobby's happiness. The shabby Priest said: 'You are kind. Time leaves us on the lurch, And there are very few who mind Their duty to the Church. But with this precious sum you give, I'll make it like a gem; Poor folks will come, our altar live To comfort them.' So now my chapel of despair Is full of joy and song; I watch the humble go to prayer Although I don't belong. An artist and agnostic I Possess but little pelf; But oh what blessings it can buy Them--and myself!
Robert William Service
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