By Mabel Jones
I love the temple on a stormy day;
It stands so tall and firm, so soundly made
It matches graying skies with deeper gray,
And meets the tempest boldly, unafraid.
The wind and rain beat at its walls as though
A thousand furies charged with wrath uncurbed
Would force an entrance with each pelting blow.
The temple stands serene and unperturbed.
I would that I might build a stronghold thus,
That when the winds of life should blow my way
I’d meet them without fear or doubt or fuss
But wisely, sanely, calmly live each day;
And stand aloof when trouble or despair
Would storm my faith and lay my ideals bare.