Pure Church

I like these lines from Poem 561 (HT: Mockingbird)

The Grieved – are many – I am told –
There is the various Cause –
Death – is but one – and comes but once –
And only nails the eyes –
There's Grief of Want – and grief of Cold – A sort they call "Despair" –
There's Banishment from native Eyes –In Sight of Native Air –
And though I may not guess the kind –
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary – To note the fashions – of the Cross –
And how they're mostly worn – Still fascinated to presume
That Some – are like My Own –