Where ancient forests widely spread,

Where bends the cataract’s ocean-fall;

On the lone mountain’s silent head,

There are Thy temples, God of all!

The tombs Thine altars are; for there,

When earthly loves and hopes have fled,

To Thee ascends the spirit’s prayer,

Thou God of the immortal dead!

All space is holy, for all space

Is filled by Thee;—but human thought

Burns clearer in some chosen place,

Where Thine own words of love are taught.

Here be they taught; and may we know

That faith Thy servants knew of old,

Which onward bears, through weal or woe,

Till death the gates of heaven unfold.

Nor we alone; may those whose brow

Shows yet no trace of human cares

Hereafter stand where we do now,

And raise to Thee still holier prayers.