448 
HYMN. 
Where waves lift up their tuneful voice, 
And solemn anthems chime, 
Where winds through echoing forests peal 
Their melodies sublime; 
Where’er insensate objects breathe 
Devotion’s grateful lays— 
Man cannot choose but join the choir 
That hymns his Maker’s praise. 
Beneath the city’s gilded domes, 
In temples decked with care, 
Where Art and Splendor vie to make 
Their earthly mansions fair ; 
Our forms may lowly bend, our lips 
May breathe a formal lay, 
The while our wayward hearts refuse 
The holy rites to pay. 
But in that grander temple, reared 
By thine Almighty hand, 
Where glorious Beauty bids the mind’s 
Diviner powers expand ; 
Our thoughts, like grateful vassals, give 
A homage glad and free, 
Our souls in adoration bow, 
And mutely reverence Thee. 
