The Minister

DIM thro' the sculptured aisles the sunbeam falls

More like a dream

Of some imagined beam,

Than actual daylight over mortal walls.

A strain of music like the rushing wind,

But deep and sweet

As when the waters meet

In one mysterious harmony combined.

So swells the mighty organ, rich and full,

As if it were the soul

Which raised the glorious whole

Of that fair building, vast and wonderful.

Doth not the spirit feel its influence,

All vain and feverish care,

All thoughts that worldly are,

Strife, tumult, mirth, and fear are vanished hence.

The world is put aside, within the heart

Those hopes arise

Thrice sacred mysteries,

In which our earthly nature has no part.

Oh, Christian Fane, the soul expands in thee,

Thine altar and thy tomb

Speak of the hope and doom

Which leads and cheers man to eternity.