In Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Above the waters braiding through the rocks
And crashing down in spray and foam before
They join again the river’s southward flow,
You see that all things, ancient though they seem,
Are bound within the limits of their movement.
They’re drawn, although we shall not witness it,
To nothingness at last. The river’s bed
Of ruddy quartzite gleams against the current;
It bears in rose and muscled bands the signs
Of its first making and would rather break
Against its grain than give in to the force
That nonetheless will wear it all away.

The liquid wash of time will carry all
That feels its touch. The banks will slowly widen,
The mill upon its verge already turned
To ash and broken stone, and those dark lines
Of railway that now span the river bottom
Will wear down, leaf by rusting leaf, beneath
The freight they bear. Yes, even what seems old
And worthy of our veneration rots.
Those houses that ascend the crowded hill,
Beneath where the cathedral stands, will see
Their charming carven beams rejoin the earth,
And take with them the memory of the living.

So it will be, as well, with the cathedral,
Where colored glass and soaring marble seem
To leave the realm of passing things behind.
Light in its brilliance gleams of the immortal.
It is not what we see but what we speak,
However, that escapes the fatal rush.
For, there, beneath the ranks of polished pillars,
The faithful hear the chiseled words of faith
And pray in unison those formulae
That, down the centuries, our fathers quarried
To build in words not wholly adequate
What we can know of our eternal God.