Inscription Intended for an Old Thatched Church

Far from the splendour of a costly fane, My low roof canopies the humble train: Deep in my vaults divorc'd from human woes, The life-worn, weary villagers repose: When at my altar kneels the hamlet fair, And to her God unveils her bosom'd care! Or does the herdsman bend with grief distrest, Kind comfort steals upon their lighten'd breast: Here too Religion weaves with viewless hand, For spotless village hearts, the nuptial band, And twines with many a charm the holy braid That joins the lab'rer and the nut-brown maid.