A thousand hands of craftsmen past
Constructed stalwart stone ballast
Twin towers mighty, built to last

Rising up to Heaven’s Gate
Reminders of our mortal state
A hope for our eternal fate

Standing in the city’s smog
Sinews between our souls and God
Imposing shadows long and broad

But when that temple grand, consumed
By fire such as we saw, assumed
That all was lost, destroyed, and doomed

Her Holy Roof for years protecting
Priest and pilgrim recollecting
In snow and rain without relenting

Now engulfed in flames ascending
A nation’s soul and worth depending
Upon this sign of faith unending

Dark billows rising in the sky
Like incense to the Throne on High
Or else a lover’s mournful cry

A coup de foudre on that spring night 
Is that steeple set alight
A sign of our world’s wayward plight?

Temple holy! O pilgrim’s joy!
That jewel which fire could not destroy 
Some divine grace thou didst employ

Thou shall rise again some future morn 
Like the temple of Our Savior’s form 
An ancient relic to be reborn.