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How often from the steep
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to the read more
How often from the steep
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to the midnight air,
Sole, or responsive each to other's note,
Singing their great Creator?
What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
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What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone.
Man always worships something; always he sees the Infinite
shadowed forth in something finite; and indeed can and must read more
Man always worships something; always he sees the Infinite
shadowed forth in something finite; and indeed can and must so
see it in any finite thing, once tempt him well to fix his eyes
thereon.
Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore
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Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore
Only among the crowd and under roofs
That our frail hands have raised?
I don't like your way of conditioning and contracting with the
saints. Do this and I'll do that! Here's read more
I don't like your way of conditioning and contracting with the
saints. Do this and I'll do that! Here's one for t'other. Save
me and I'll give you a taper or go on a pilgrimage.
He wakes a portion with judicious care;
And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air.
He wakes a portion with judicious care;
And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air.
As the skull of the man grows broader, so do his creeds.
And his gods they are shaped in read more
As the skull of the man grows broader, so do his creeds.
And his gods they are shaped in his image and mirror his needs.
And he clothes them with thunders and beauty,
He clothes them with music and fire,
Seeing not, as he bows by their altars,
That he worships his own desire.
I worship the quicksand he walks in.
I worship the quicksand he walks in.
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones,
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones,
Forget not.