The chapel looms against the sky, <br /> Above the vine-clad shelves, <br />And as the peasants pass it by <br /> They cross themselves. <br />But I alone, I grieve to state, <br /> Lack sentiment divine: <br />A citified sophisticate, <br /> I make no sign. <br /> <br />Their gesture may a habit be, <br /> Mechanic in a sense, <br />Yet somehow it awakes in me <br /> Strange reverence. <br />And though from ignorance it stem, <br /> Somehow I deeply grieve, <br />And wish down in my heart like them <br /> I could believe. <br /> <br />Suppose a cottage I should buy, <br /> And little patch of vine, <br />With pure and humble spirit I <br /> Might make the Sign. <br />Aye, though I godless way I go, <br /> And sceptic in my trend, <br />A faith in something I don't know <br /> Might save me in the end.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/agnostic/
