The church’s accents fall.
With sweet and solemn sound
Where winter’s ice imprisons lake and stream,
Where tropic woods with fadeless summer gleam
They make their joyful round—
Joyful, and yet how grave;
Bidding us kneel with faces to the east,
And watch for Him, our sacrifice and priest,
Who cometh, strong to save.
As, at a mother’s feet,