Ii

O genuine glory, pure renown! And well might it beseem that mighty Town[BE] Into whose bosom earth's best treasures flow, To whom all persecuted men retreat; If a new Temple lift her votive brow High on the shore of silver Thames--to greet The peaceful guest advancing from afar. Bright be the Fabric, as a star Fresh risen, and beautiful within!--there meet Dependence infinite, proportion just; A Pile that Grace approves, and Time can trust With his most sacred wealth, heroic dust.