Place De La Bastille, Paris

How dear the sky has been above this place! Small treasures of this sky that we see here Seen weak through prison-bars from year to year; Eyed with a painful prayer upon God's grace To save, and tears which stayed along the face Lifted at sunset. Yea, how passing dear Those nights when through the bars a wind left clear The heaven, and moonlight soothed the limpid space! So was it, till one night the secret kept Safe in low vault and stealthy corridor Was blown abroad on gospel-tongues of flame. O ways of God, mysterious evermore! How many on this spot have cursed and wept That all might stand here now and own Thy Name.