 | Lays of the Highlands and Islands |  |
LOCH RANNOCH.
O'er lone Loch Rannoch's clear far-stretching floodWith gentlest curl the Sabbath breezes creep;
No sound disturbs thy contemplative mood,
Save the meek cry of the far-bleating sheep,
And the low hum of distant waterfall.
Here, on these voiceless banks, if thou can'st keep
Pure Sabbath for thyself, and wisely reap
Harvest of native thought, without the call
Of fervid preacher, I forbid thee not;
God dwelleth not in temples made with hands,
Nor chains His presence to one charmed spot.
But they are wise who kneel in brothered bands
At hallowed stations: where their fathers trod,
Fools will despise the beaten way to God.
| Lays of the Highlands and Islands | |