File:A gallery of famous English and American poets (1874) (14781878245).jpg

Identifier: galleryoffamouse00copp (find matches)
Title: A gallery of famous English and American poets
Year: 1874 (1870s)
Authors: Coppée, Henry, 1821-1895
Subjects: English poetry American poetry
Publisher: Philadelphia : J. M. Stoddart & co.
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Internet Archive

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one jiile of dust With chime or chant. The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man !Thy temples—creeds themselves grow wan!But theres a dome of nobler span,A temple given 194 CAMPBELL. Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban—Its space is Heaven ! Its roof star-pictured Natures ceiling,Where, trancing the rapt spirits feeling,And God himself to man revealing, The harmonious spheresMake music, though unheard their pealing By mortal ears. Fair stars! are not your beings pure ?Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure?Else why so swell the thoughts at your Asjject above?Ye must be Heavens that make us sure Of heavenly love! And in your harmony sublimeI read the doom of distant time;That mans regenerate soul from crime Shall yet be drawn,And reason on his mortal clime Immortal dawn. Whats hallowed ground? Tis what gives birthTo sacred thoughts in souls of worth!—Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth Earths compass round;And your high priesthood shall make earth All hallowed ground. HORACE SMITH,
Text Appearing After Image:
HYMN TO THE FLOWEES. Day-stars ! that ope your eyes witli man, to twinkle From rainbow galaxies of eartlis creation,And dew-drops on lier holy altars sprinkleAs a libation. 196 196 HORACE SMITH. Ye matin worshippers ! who bending lowlyBefore the uprisen sun, Gods lidless eye,Throw from your chalices a sweet and holyIncense on high. Ye bright Mosaics ! tiiat with storied beauty The floor of natures temple tessellateWith numerous emblems of instructive duty.Your forms create. Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth And tolls its perfume on the passing air,Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringethA call to prayer. Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand,But to that fane, most catholic and solemn.Which God hath planned: To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply:its choir the winds and waves—its organ tlmnder—its dome the sky. There, as in solitude and shade I wander Throu

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