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.