There was a space
at the edge of a meadow.
An inlet of lotus and clear water.
Houses and fisheries
with boats of unpainted plank,
sails and oars,
and a railhead to the west
coming over virgin soil
with black angular feet
and puffing steam.
A meadow where people passed
by willow and grass.
People devout in their lives,
looking for sanctuary,
a place to come
in this beautiful place,
and thank Providence
for its good earth.
A place to put their prayers and songs,
comfort their sick and lonely,
and hear their children laugh
with the sweetness of play.
And from need and longing
a church was born
brought to birth
from quarry stone,
timber from the woods,
glass stained by the indelible
inks of their earth.
A place to call Calvary,
triumph,
the ascension of good,
the toil of their dream
completed.
The resurrection of hearts made whole,
a place to learn of God,
a chapel for His word,
brought to the town they loved,
Sandusky,
and their church called Calvary.