Thy praise divine!—But tho’ man, drown’d in sleep,

Withholds his homage, not alone I wake;

Bright legions swarm unseen, and sing, unheard

By mortal ear, the glorious Architect,

In this his universal temple hung

With lustres, with innumerable lights,

That shed religion on the soul; at once

The temple and the preacher! O how loved

It calls devotion! genuine growth of night!

Young.