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Should deck themselves in princely garniture, As Heaven s ambassadors.
To Him who bade
The broad-winged cherubs beautify the Ark That taught His worship to the wilderness, And mitred Aaron stand in priestly robes, And Zion s temple wear its crown of rays, Like a king s daughter, thou, majestic pile, Dost show thy reverence by thy glorious garb, And, with a solemn tone, require of man Unceasingly, that incense of the heart, Which he doth owe to God. And when he drops Thy lesson in the grave, and fades away, With what unwrinkled patience dost thou teach Each new-born race Jehovah s awful name, And press upon their infant lips His praise.
Again we came, and on the Sabbath-day, And marked, amid the throng of worshippers, A poor old man, bent low with years of toil. His garb was humble, and his lowly seat Fast by the reader in the sacred desk, Because, raethought, his ear was dull to sound. It seemed as if his travel had been sore, Along the barren wilds of poverty, But yet that, mid its flint-stones, he had found That pearl of price, which the rich merchantman Too oft o erlooketh on his prosperous way. Meekly he bowed, nor cast a wandering glance Toward kingly scutcheon, or emblazoned arms
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