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XXXVIII. MEDITATION.
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152

XXXVIII. MEDITATION.

What is more glorious than a noble Thought?
What is more blessed?—In that thought to dwell!
To build your bower within it; scoop a cell;
Inlay with precious ores a secret grot
With mossy seats around: to wander not;
But lean in peace above its caverned well,
Passive to that pure runnel's murmuring spell,
Or sound of sighing forests heard remote.
Such holy promptings moved of old our sires
Those vast cathedrals cruciform to raise
Which make us dwell within the Cross: and still,
Sweet as the gradual breeze from all their choirs
Moving with dawning day o'er wood and hill,
The thoughts by those grey Minsters quickened to God's praise!