Without, the sullen noises of the street! br The voice of London, inarticulate, br Hoarse and blaspheming, surges in to meet br The silent blessing of the Immaculate. br br Dark is the church, and dim the worshippers, br Hushed with bowed heads as though by some old spell. br While through the incense-laden air there stirs br The admonition of a silver bell. br br Dark is the church, save where the altar stands, br Dressed like a bride, illustrious with light, br Where one old priest exalts with tremulous hands br The one true solace of man's fallen plight.