Into whose bosom earth's best treasures flow,[117]
To whom all persecuted men retreat;
If a new Temple lift her[118] votive brow
High on[119] the shore of silver Thames—to greet
The peaceful guest advancing from afar.
Bright be the Fabric,[120] as a star
Fresh risen, and beautiful within!—there meet
Dependence infinite, proportion just;
A Pile that Grace approves, and Time can trust
With his most sacred wealth, heroic dust.[121]