Classic Poem

O THOU , dread Nature, whose material frame
In elemental strength compactly stands,
In beauty ever varying, yet the same,
Blending in unity all times and lands!
What art thou but a Temple to His name
Who thee uprear'd upon th' abyss profound;
The uncreated Word, who flesh became
For us poor wormlings creeping on the ground,
Unworthy of such love as then in Him we found?

Who, lifting up thy mountain-pillar'd heights,
Thy spacious floor with land and sea inlaid;
Fill'd thy long aisles with mystic sounds and sights;
Of starry sky thy roof cerulean made:
That man in thee of ever fresh delights,
Through dying Autumn and reviving Spring,
Through the long Summer-days and Winter-nights,
Might find a store, from whence His praise to sing
Who is above all praise, of all creation King!

Then, too, lest outward nature should enthrall
Our souls oblivious of the things unseen,
Deep in Creation's adamantine wall
Windows he plac'd of rainbow-tints serene;
Through which His holy Heaven on those might shine
Who purely sought their God in all to see:
O glorious work of mercy most divine,
That nature thus might Thine Apostle be,
Great Lord, and to our hearts preach not herself but Thee!

Wherefore all praise be Thine, who so hast wrought
Each mind responsive to Creation's scheme,
That outward sight should lead to inward thought,
Through inward thought Thine inner glory beam!
And teach us, Lord, whenever forth we go,
The wonders of this Temple to explore,
Thyself, the light and life of all, to know;
Thyself in all its wonders to adore,
Lord of all wisdom, might, and glory evermore!