Where, till this hour, such sound has never been;
Then, in the distance, fainter grown the lay,
The lingering notes at length dissolve away.
When all is silent, on the mountain sod
The humble shepherds bend the knee to God;
They kneel in darkness and in peace, to share
The sweet and social intercourse of prayer:
With gleams of manly thought, their prayers arise,
Like incense from the altar, to the skies.
Their temple is the mountain and the mist,