Seem all one sanctuary
Of holiest thought—nor needs their fresh, bright sod,
Urn, wreath, or shrine, for tombs all dedicate to God.
Christ hath arisen! O mountain-peaks! attest—
Witness, resounding glen and torrent-wave!
The immortal courage in the human breast
Sprung from that victory—tell how oft the brave
To camp midst rock and cave,
Nerved by those words, their struggling faith have borne,
Planting the cross on high above the clouds of morn!