 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
154
THE METHODIST CHURCH.
Lord, whatso'er the temple, where
Thy children meet to worship thee,
Hast thou not given thy word, that there,
To bless them, thou wilt surely be?
Thy children meet to worship thee,
Hast thou not given thy word, that there,
To bless them, thou wilt surely be?
Then thou art here with those, who kneel
In reverence of thy name divine!
Their souls thy cheering presence feel—
To faith's pure eye thy glories shine.
In reverence of thy name divine!
Their souls thy cheering presence feel—
To faith's pure eye thy glories shine.
For here a favored flock is fed
With that blessed food thy love hath given;
And prayers, like mingling odors shed
From golden phials, rise to heaven.
With that blessed food thy love hath given;
And prayers, like mingling odors shed
From golden phials, rise to heaven.
We see about this hallowed fane
No pageant marks on either side:—
No splendid offering of the vain,
Nor costly sacrifice to pride.
No pageant marks on either side:—
No splendid offering of the vain,
Nor costly sacrifice to pride.
Around no drapery idly falls—
No sculptured marble proudly stands:
Devotion reared these modest walls,
And here she lifts her holy hands.
No sculptured marble proudly stands:
Devotion reared these modest walls,
And here she lifts her holy hands.
Thy servants here are curtained round,
Lord, by the shadow of thy wings;
And dearest ornaments are found—
The jewels of the King of kings!
Lord, by the shadow of thy wings;
155
The jewels of the King of kings!
The fervent heart is kindling here,
And sends to heaven a holy flame;
This altar takes contrition's tear,
The brightest gift that Christ would claim!
And sends to heaven a holy flame;
This altar takes contrition's tear,
The brightest gift that Christ would claim!
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |