Slowly on Morningside Heights rises the Ca-thedral of St. John the Divine: standing on a high rock under the Northern sky above the long wash of the untroubled sea, above the wash of the troubled waves of men.It has fit neighbors. Across the street to the north looms the many-towered gray-walled Hos-pital of St. Luke-cathedral of our ruins, of our sufferings and our dust, near the cathedral of our souls.