IN KING'S' CHAPEL
(Boston, November 3, 1878)
O, Lord of Hosts, how sacred is this place,
Where, though the tides of time resistless flow,
And the long generations come and go,
Thou still abidest! In this holy space
The very airs are hushed before Thy face,
And wait in reverent calm, as voices low
Blend in the prayers and chantings, soft and slow,
And the gray twilight stealeth on apace.
Hark! There are whispers from the time-worn walls;
The mighty dead glide up the shadowy aisle;
And there are rustlings as of angels' wings
While from the choir the heavenly music falls!
Well may we bow in grateful praise the while—
In the King's Chapel reigns the King of Kings!
Where, though the tides of time resistless flow,
And the long generations come and go,
Thou still abidest! In this holy space
The very airs are hushed before Thy face,
And wait in reverent calm, as voices low
Blend in the prayers and chantings, soft and slow,
And the gray twilight stealeth on apace.
Hark! There are whispers from the time-worn walls;
The mighty dead glide up the shadowy aisle;
And there are rustlings as of angels' wings
While from the choir the heavenly music falls!
Well may we bow in grateful praise the while—
In the King's Chapel reigns the King of Kings!
