Classic Poem

With laud and loud thanksgiving,
Thee, Saviour! we adore,
The Dead who now art living
And shalt live evermore,—
Set in th' eternal city,
At God's right hand above,
The infinite in pity,
The measureless in love.

For Thee, the nard and spices,
And the fine linen's fold,
But not for Thee suffices
The ointment and the gold.
Things nobler still, and fairer,
O Saviour! shall be Thine,
Man's heart hath offerings rarer,
Sweet sound and song divine.

And prayer shall grow intenser,
And love and faith more strong,
As swings the golden censer,
And swells the glorious song,
Up through the minster arches,
Up to the skies star-sown,
Where planets in their marches
Have music of their own.

Till wafted by devotion,
Our human voices call
Across the crystal ocean,
Across the jasper wall—
Unto the city golden
Where God is on His throne,
Where sweeter harps are holden
And better hymns are known,—

And blend their measure lowly
With that eternal lay,
The “Holy, Holy, Holy”
That rises night and day,
And that great song expressing
While Heaven's far echoes ring,
Salvation, glory, blessing,
And honour to our King.