Though wandering in a stranger-land,

Though on the waste no altar stand,

Take comfort! thou art not alone,

While Faith hath marked thee for her own.

Wouldst thou a temple? look above,—

The heavens stretch over all in love;

A book? for thine evangel scan

The wondrous history of man.

And though no organ-peal be heard,

In harmony the winds are stirred;

And there the morning stars upraise

Their ancient songs of deathless praise.