Not in the pomp of temples made with hands,
Nor where in pride the sculptured marble stands—
Where pillared aisles their labored lines display,
And painted casements mock the imprisoned day,
Or the broad column swells—we worship Thee,
Spirit Almighty!—but in this vast shrine,
Where nature bids her elder glories shine,
Fit emblems of thine own eternity.
These woods, which through the lapse of time have given
Their spreading branches to the light of heaven—