Classic Poem

Mankind of old reared altars on the hills,
And made burnt offerings, and chanted prayers
Unto the Unseen Spirit, for the heights,
The winds, the vasts of the untrammeled sky,
Seemed nearest to Divinity, but we,—
We know that God is in the riven depths
Of canyons, in the wood's green fastnesses,
Yea, on the broad breast of the whelming sea,
And rear our holiest altars in the heart!