1When long the soul had slept in chains,
And man to man was stern and cold;
When love and worship were but strains
That swept the gifted chords of old--
By shady mount and peaceful lake,
meek and lowly stranger came,
The weary drank the words he spake,
The poor and feeble blessed his name.
2No shrine he reared in porch or grove,
No vested priests around him stood--