The church that holds me here is falling down.
The choir left a thousand years ago
When bread and wine as one began to drown.
There’s no one left to light the candle’s flame
Or venerate those things the saints became.
A time ago the cracks began to show.
Today the walls are gravely falling down
As saints on high fall down to depths below.

Then, as the final saint falls down and dies,
I hear what must be Heaven’s wondrous cries
As angels praise the one they canonize.
He stands before me brighter than the sun.
Beyond the ruins of this church there lies
A land toward which our passage has begun.