As once, upon Athenian ground,
Shrines, statues, temples, all around,
The man of Tarsus trod,-
Midst idol-altars, one he saw

That filled his breast with sacred awe :
"Twas-" To the unknown God."

Age after age has rolled away,
Altars and thrones have felt decay,
Sages and saints have risen;
And, like a giant roused from sleep,
Man has explored the pathless deep,
And lightnings snatched from heaven.

Yet still, where'er presumptuous man
His Maker's essence strives to scan,
And lifts his feeble hands,

Though saint and sage their powers unite
To fathom that abyss of light,

Ah! still that altar stands.

"MAKE us a god," said man:
Power first the voice obeyed;
And soon a monstrous form

Its worshippers dismayed;

Uncouth and huge, by nations rude adored,
With savage rites and sacrifice abhorred.

"Make us a god," said man:
Art next the voice obeyed;
Lovely, serene, and grand,

Uprose the Athenian maid;

The perfect statue, Greece, with wreathed brows, Adores in festal rites and lyric vows.

"Make us a god," said man:
Religion followed Art,

And answered, "Look within;

God is in thine own heart

His noblest image there, and holiest shrine,

Silent revere and be thyself divine."

WHETHER men reap or sow the fields,
Her admonitions Nature yields;

That not by bread alone we live,
Or what a hand of flesh can give ;

That every day should leave some part
Free for a sabbath of the heart:

So shall the seventh be truly blest From morn till eve with hallowed rest.

XCIV.

WHILE I do rest, my soul advance,
Let me sleep a holy trance,

That I may take my rest being wrought
Awake into some holy thought;
And with as cheerful vigour run
My course, as doth the nimble sun.
Sleep is a death: O let me try,
By sleeping, what it is to die!
And down as gently lay my head
On my grave, as on my bed-
Howe'er I rest, great God! let me
Awake again, at last, with thee!

O GOD, unchangeable and true,
Of all the life and power,
Dispensing light and silence through
Every successive hour:

Lord, brighten our declining day,

That it may never wane,

Till death, when all things round decay,
Brings back the morn again.

XCVI.

O MAKE our hearts, blest God, thy dwelling-place; And in our breast

Be pleased to rest,

For thou such temples lovest best;

And cause that sin

May not profane the Deity within, And sully o'er the ornaments of grace.

XCVII.

LORD, let the flames of holy Charity,
And all her gifts and graces, slide

Into our hearts, and there abide;
That, thus refined, we may soar above
With it unto the element of love-

Even unto thee, dear Spirit

And there eternal peace and rest inherit.

Amen.

O God, thou art our home, to whom we fly;
And so hast always been from age to age,
Before the hills did intercept the eye,

Or that the frame was up of earthly stage. One God thou wert, and art, and still shalt be: The line of time, it doth not measure thee!

Both death and life obey thy holy lore,
And visit in their turns as they are sent;
A thousand years with thee, they are no more
Than yesterday, which, ere it is, is spent:
Or, like a watch by night, that course doth keep,
And goes and comes, unwares to them that sleep.

Thou carriest man away as with a tide;

Then down swim all his thoughts that mounted

high;

Much like a mocking dream that will not bide,
But flies before the sight of waking eye;

Or as the grass that cannot term obtain
To see the summer come about again.

Teach us, O Lord, to number well our days,
Thereby our hearts to wisdom to apply;