Classic Poem

GO thou and seek the House of Prayer!
I to the woodlands wend, and there
In lovely Nature see the God of Love.
The swelling organ's peal
Wakes not my soul to zeal,
Like the sweet music of the vernal grove.
The gorgeous altar and the mystic vest
Excite not such devotion in my breast,
As where the noon-tide beam,
Flash'd from some broken stream,
Vibrates on the dazzled sight;
Or where the cloud-suspended rain
Sweeps in shadows o'er the plain;
Or when, reclining on the cliff's huge height,
I mark the billows burst in silver light.

Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!
I to the Woodlands shall repair,
Feed with all Nature's charms mine eyes,
And hear all Nature's melodies.
The primrose bank will there dispense
Faint fragrance to the awaken'd sense;
The morning beams that life and joy impart,
Will with their influence warm my heart,
And the full tear that down my cheek will steal,
Will speak the prayer of praise I feel.

Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!
I to the Woodlands bend my way,
And meet Religion there!
She needs not haunt the high-arch'd dome to pray
Where storied windows dim the doubtful day;
At liberty she loves to rove,
Wide o'er the healthy hill or cowslip'd dale
Or seek the shelter of the embowering grove,
Or with the streamlet wind along the vale.
Sweet are these scenes to her; and when the Night
Pours in the North her silver streams of light,
She wooes reflection in the silent gloom,
And ponders on the world to come.