At Your Feet

A beggar sat on the Temple’s floor, Gazing around at the pious crowd That knelt before the cross of gold, On high amid the perfumed smoke; Scanning the marble pillars bright, The costly silks and glittering gems Upon the priesthood in the choir, And all the swaying silver lamps That carried stars of ruby fire: ‘Dreamers and pharisean fools, The heavens are only coloured void, Christ is living at your feet Beneath each beggar’s loathsome rags.’