Volume 20 — The Church In F——.

Build up the church! Let its turrets rise,

With cross-crowned summits, to kiss the skies;

Hollow its centre, in nave and aisle,

From its walls let heaven-rapt faces smile.

Make its fair altars to glow with light,

Where priest and ministering acolyte

May kneel, with incense and book and bell,

The praises of God and his saints to swell.

Let the deep tones of the organ roll

With thunderous music, to stir the soul,

While spirits soar, as on wings of fire,

'Mid the holy chants of the surpliced choir.

But when the crowd has passed away,

And the lights burn low and the church is gray,

And in their solitude aisle and nave

Are still and stern as a martyr's grave,

All is not over of praise and prayer:

The mourner, shrinking from crowd and glare,

May kneel in the shadow, and veil her eyes

Before the Lord of the sacrifice.

The sacred Presence that throws its spell—

An ever-abiding miracle—

O'er the empty fane and the silent shrine,

Is there at all seasons—the Host divine.

[pg 596]