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CHURCH SCULPTURE.
A sculptor I beheld with cunning handFrom shapeless stone fair leaves and flowers untwine,
Crowning the columns of a lofty shrine.
Like trees those pillars rise, a noble band,
Their tops of diverse foliage deftly plann'd:
While oak and maple, sycamore and vine,
With shamrock, lily, passion-flower combine,
To emulate some sylvan landscape grand.
The God of Nature is the God of Grace:
Then bring thy leaves, O sculptor, and thy flowers
To shed their woodland beauty o'er this place,
Fann'd by the breath Divine of holy hours;
Until we almost feel we see His face,
Whose voice at eve thrilled Eden's leafy bowers!
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