THE wind is now thy organist; -- a clank (We know not whence) ministers for a bell To mark some change of service. As the swell Of music reached its height, and even when sank The notes, in prelude, ROSLIN! to a blank Of silence, how it thrilled thy sumptuous roof, Pillars, and arches, -- not in vain time-proof, Though Christian rites be wanting! From what bank Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown? Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green-grown, Copy their beauty more and more, and preach, Though mute, of all things blending into one. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE FAIRIES' SONG by THOMAS RANDOLPH BALLAD: THE THINGS OF NO ACCOUNT by FRANCOIS VILLON YOUTH'S SONGS by MAXWELL ANDERSON THE CLOAK by ANNA LOUISE BARNEY A COUNTRY GOD by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN MASQUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE LORD HAYES: SONG by THOMAS CAMPION |