 | Wood-notes and Church-bells |  |
268
LODORE WATERFALL.
Who tore these awful towering rocks asunderCleaving this ragged fissure, darkly grand?
And down the chasm precipitous, Whose hand
This torrent hurled in everlasting thunder?
It was not Nature's blind caprice or blunder—
But here the Lord for His own glory plann'd
A fane stupendous, through all time to stand,
That men might bow the head in reverent wonder.
Lord, 'mid the torrent's roar this day I raise
My voice within these walls sublime and hoary;
To Nature's ceaseless organ-peal of praise
I add my feeble words to swell Thy glory,
And viewing Thy majestic works and ways
In humblest adoration bend before Thee!
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