Salvation

They woke me Sunday, and I looked
Out of my bed to see;
And then the way I felt rebuked
Suggested this to me:

Even the crudest curbstone prayer,
That rouses hearts anew,
Is-nearer to the crystal stair
Than many a proper pew.

A dusty sleeve that touches death,
Soothing a fevered head.
Is cleaner with a purer breath
Than vestments white and red.

We who can stand aside and say,
“O, they accomplish good,”
Might ask if our God our way
As well is understood;

For, shocking less the sun and moon
Than melody that shirks,
Their band is not so out of tune,
As others of thy works!

But that’s a sort of thing to me,
Too tough to think about;-
So back I went to bed, you see,
And idly wrote it out.