I

While Evening waits and hearkens,
While yet the song-bird calls,
Before the last light darkens,
Before the last leaf falls, —
Once more, with reverent feeling,
This sacred shrine I seek, —
In silent awe revealing
The love I cannot speak.

II

Still flows, rejoicing in one hallowed name,
The golden tide of reverence and acclaim;
Still, through long years, the lowly and the great
Around his shrine and in his temple wait.
And sure no holier impulse can impart
Exalted gladness to the reverent heart
Than this, which prompts its homage to one soul
That measur'd, sounded, and express'd the whole.