Tis Sabbath now, and Morn, with glowing soul

’Tis Sabbath now, and Morn, with glowing soul, Stands gracious on his heavenly altar grand; Seems, in his spreading lustre, to unroll Devotion’s halcyon programme o’er the land: A thousand temples lift their spiry crowns, To catch the tone of heavenly symphony; Then their deep voices pour their pealing sounds— The mighty organ of the world to-day.

And from their choir, which all New England fills, Their iron tongues the voluntary peal: Lo! see it waken, all our vales and hills, And bid the soul an inspiration feel. Our homes, responsive to the summons wide, Largely devotion’s pious walks attend; Or, consecrating home and fireside, To God upon the heart’s own altar bend.

And piety’s true altar is the heart; And every holy thought must worship there; And in that humble and aspiring part, Must offer its divinist psalm and prayer. There conscience, God’s apostle, ever stands, And from His volume teaches the divine.— Nor circumscribed, but in all human lands, And in all times, his heavenly sermons shine.