MY Saxon shrine! the only ground | |
| Wherein this weary heart hath rest; | |
| What years the birds of God have found | |
| Along thy walls their sacred nest: | |
| The storm, the blast, the tempest shock, | 5 |
| Have beat upon those walls in vain; | |
| She stands,—a daughter of the rock,— | |
| The changeless God’s eternal fane. | |
| |
| Firm was their faith,—the ancient bands, | |
| The wise of heart in wood and stone, | 10 |
| Who reared with stern and trusting hands | |
| These dark gray towers of days unknown: | |
| They filled these aisles with many a thought, | |
| They bade each nook some truth reveal; | |
| The pillared arch its legend brought, | 15 |
| A doctrine came with roof and wall. | |
| |
| Huge, mighty, massive, hard, and strong, | |
| Were the choice stones they lifted then: | |
| The vision of their hope was long, | |
| They knew their God, those faithful men. | 20 |
| They pitched no tent for change or death, | |
| No home to last man’s shadowy day; | |
| There! there! the everlasting breath | |
| Would breathe whole centuries away. | |
| |
| See, now, along that pillared aisle | 25 |
| The graven arches, firm and fair: | |
| They bend their shoulders to the toil, | |
| And lift the hollow roof in air. | |
| A sign! beneath the ship we stand, | |
| The inverted vessel’s arching side; | 30 |
| Forsaken—when the fisher-band | |
| Went forth to sweep a mightier tide. | |
| |
| Pace we the ground! our footsteps tread | |
| A cross,—the builder’s holiest form; | |
| That awful couch where once was shed | 35 |
| The blood, with man’s forgiveness warm. | |
| And here, just where his mighty breast | |
| Throbbed the last agony away, | |
| They bade the voice of worship rest, | |
| And white-robed Levites pause and pray. | 40 |
| |
| Mark! the rich rose of Sharon’s bowers | |
| Curves in the paten’s mystic mould; | |
| The lily, lady of the flowers, | |
| Her shape must yonder chalice hold. | |
| Types of the mother and the son, | 45 |
| The twain in this dim chancel stand; | |
| The badge of Norman banners one, | |
| And one a crest of English land. | |
| |
| How all things glow with life and thought | |
| Where’er our faithful fathers trod! | 50 |
| The very ground with speech is fraught, | |
| The air is eloquent of God. | |
| In vain would doubt or mockery hide | |
| The buried echoes of the past; | |
| A voice of strength, a voice of pride, | 55 |
| Here dwells amid the storm and blast. | |
| |
| Still points the tower, and pleads the bell; | |
| The solemn arches breathe in stone; | |
| Window and wall have lips to tell | |
| The mighty faith of days unknown. | 60 |
| Yea, flood and breeze and battle-shock | |
| Shall beat upon this church in vain; | |
| She stands,—a daughter of the rock,— | |
| The changeless God’s eternal fane. | |
| |
