IX. The modern Cathedral.
Ye have said, it is vain to serve God: and what profit is it that we have kept his ordinance?
Without—the world's unceasing noises rise,
Turmoil, disquietude, and busy fears.
Within—there are the sounds of other years,
Thoughts full of Prayer, and solemn harmonies,
Which imitate on earth the peaceful skies,
And canonized Regret, which backward bears
Her longing aspect, moving thoughtful tears.
Such blest abodes, in Heav'n's all-pitying eyes,
Might yet be eloquent for a nation's good;
But where is now the kneeling multitude?
The silver-tongued spruce verger passes by
Hurrying his group, the proud and curious eye
Of connoisseur—the loiterer's sauntering mood:
Sad picture of lost Faith and evil nigh!
