 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
Primitive Worship
God's worship to no temple is confined,Amid the scenes of Nature it may be;
The song of praise borne on the summer wind,
Beneath the shelter of the forest tree.
So mused I, as I walked beside the lake,
Where Peters preached unto the listening throng;
The low-voiced waves that on its borders break,
With whispering pines all joined the sacred song.
So mused I, as amid the Camp I strayed,
Where Christians yearly meet for praise and prayer;
Beneath the hemlock's shade the people prayed,
And sweet their voices rose upon the air;
As when our fathers mid these forests trod,
And, without temples, worshipped here their God.
Poem No. 151; 24 August 1866
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |