To hew the shaft and lay the architrave

    And spread the roof above them—ere he framed

    The lofty vault to gather and roll back

    The sound of anthems； in the darkling wood

    Amidst the cool and silence he knelt down

    And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks

    And supplication. For his simple heart

    Might not resist the sacred influences

    Which from the stilly twilight of the place

    And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven

    Mingled their mossy boughs and from the sound

    Of the invisible breath that swayed at once

    All their green tops stole over him and bowed

    His spirit with the thought of boundless power

    And inaccessible majesty. Ah why

    Should we in the world's riper years neglect

    God's ancient sanctuaries and adore

    Only among the crowd and under roofs

    That our frail hands have raised？ Let me at least

    Here in the shadow of this aged wood

    Offer one hymn—thrice happy if it find

    Acceptance in His ear.

    Father thy hand

    Hath reared these venerable columns thou

    Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down

    Upon the naked earth and forthwith rose

    All these fair ranks of trees. They in thy sun

    Budded and shook their green leaves in thy breeze

    And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow

    Whose birth was in their tops grew old and died

    Among their branches till at last they stood

    As now they stand massy and tall and dark