Classic Poem

The sun is shedding golden beams,
The waiting earth to bless,
But sweeter o'er our spirit streams,
The Sun of Righteousness.

The incense of the flowery host,
Is stealing upward free,
But, Lord, the altar of our hearts,
Breathes fragrance out to thee.

In grove and woodland warblers sing,
In many a varied tone,
But oh, the tribute children bring,
More welcome meets the throne.

Majestic, Lord, is Nature's shrine,
The footstool of its God,
But more august this House of thine,
By erring mortals trod.

Then gather, with a heart of joy,
And tread the well-known aisle,
The praise of God, our loved employ,
Our recompense, his smile.

Then gather, children, to his throne,
And He, the heavenly Dove,
Will, as your prayer he deigns to own,
O'ershadow you with love.