Where ancient forests widely spread,
Where bends the cataract’s ocean-fall;
On the lone mountain’s silent head,
There are Thy temples, God of all!
The tombs Thine altars are; for there,
When earthly loves and hopes have fled,
To Thee ascends the spirit’s prayer,
Thou God of the immortal dead!
All space is holy, for all space
Is filled by Thee;—but human thought
Burns clearer in some chosen place,
Where Thine own words of love are taught.
Here be they taught; and may we know
That faith Thy servants knew of old,
Which onward bears, through weal or woe,
Till death the gates of heaven unfold.
Nor we alone; may those whose brow
Shows yet no trace of human cares
Hereafter stand where we do now,
And raise to Thee still holier prayers.