The Turf Shall Be My Fragrant Shrine

The turf shall be my frag­rant shrine

My temple

Lord! that arch of Thine;

My cen­ser’s breath the mount­ain airs

And si­lent thoughts my on­ly pray­ers.

My choir shall be the moon­light waves

When mur­mur­ing home­ward to their caves

Or when the still­ness of the sea

E’en more than mu­sic

breathes of Thee!

I’ll seek

by day

some glade un­known

All light and si­lence

like Thy throne;

And all the pale stars shall be at night

The on­ly eyes that watch my rite.

Thy Heav­en

on which ’tis bliss to look

Shall be my pure and shin­ing book

Where I shall read

in words of flame

The glo­ries of Thy won­drous name.

I’ll read Thy an­ger in the rack

That clouds awhile the day-beams track;

Thy mer­cy in the az­ure hue

Of sun­ny bright­ness break­ing through!

There’s no­thing bright

above

be­low

From flow­ers that bloom to stars that glow

But in its light my soul can see

Some fea­ture of Thy de­ity.

There’s no­thing dark

be­low

above

But in its gloom I trace Thy love

And meek­ly wait that mo­ment

when

Thy touch shall turn all bright again!