To the brilliant sunshine sparkling free?
’Tis that all on earth is of Time’s domain—
He hath made thee nature’s own again!
Fount of the chapel with ages gray!
Thou art springing freshly amidst decay;
Thy rites are closed, and thy cross lies low,
And the changeful hours breathe o’er thee now.
Yet if at thine altar one holy thought
In man’s deep spirit of old hath wrought;
If peace to the mourner hath here been given,